Читать книгу The Golden Rock - Glanville Ernest - Страница 19

On the afternoon of the fourth day, with lockers almost exhausted of coal, they sighted the outposts of Madeira—jagged rocks, with the clearest of outlines—and made for Funchal with some apprehension as to their reception from the Portuguese.

They had not passed scathless through the Bay. The funnels were coated with salt, the mark of a curling sea which had swept over the bows, and the starboard boat was missing. The deck was soaked, and grimy from coal-grit,—while all on board looked worn and unwashed, as though they had been without sleep, and, indeed, they had passed through a wearying time, tossed about like corks, compelled to hold on at every step, and drenched with spray. But though the catcher had plunged and rolled in a manner that tried the nerves of the oldest seaman, she had gone safely through those huge rollers, and they had learnt to trust in her. What they wanted now was her full capacity of coal, with some tons over for storage on the deck, to enable her to make the long passage to Rio, if possible. The question was, Had the Portuguese been warned by the Brazilian Consul in London, and would they give them coal?

Very soon she was steering a course parallel to the vast slope of the Island, ploughing through waters of deepest violet. Innumerable little white houses dotted that seemingly inhospitable slope of coloured sandstone, many as the white crests of the waves, and each one of them when viewed through a glass was seen to be embedded in a wealth of vegetation. So steep was the slope, and so limited each settlement, that every bit of land was terraced, so that not one spadeful of the precious soil should escape. From where, at the foot, the slope terminated in a precipitous descent to the foaming wave, these terraces ascended like irregular steps far up to the heights. And there lived a frugal people, with that brilliant sea below them, and the blue, unclouded sky above, with the air tempered by the mists on the mountain ridge above to the most balmy softness, and with a soil, once saved and scraped together, that grew all they needed without much toil. Theirs is the life of repose, with grapes and bananas for their principal food, varied with onions and fish, and washed down with the wine of that iron soil.

A slothful people, perhaps, but they have discovered the secret of living on the soil and out of the soil, developing the idle ruminating pleasures of sleek cattle; happy in their little houses, their tiny plots of fruitful ground; rich in their climate, and most fortunate in their situation. What to them the aspirations of the struggling hordes of Europe, the agonised cry of the hopeless poor of more powerful countries, the ambitions and the social schemes of the proud Northerners, but the echoes of a stormy life?

The Swift rounded into Funchal Bay, and anchored in the calm waters, under the guns of a picturesque fort covered with green. The fires were raked out, and the long craft, weather-beaten and streaked with rust stains, was at rest—an object, however, of suspicion to the peaceful merchant-ships. A tug from the shore shot out, encircled the catcher, and returned in haste.

“That doesn’t look friendly,” said Lieutenant Webster.

“They’ve had notice to look out for us,” was the Captain’s comment. “It’s what I feared; but so long as they give us coal they may do what they like.”

“There’s a boat putting off, sir—probably to warn us off.”

“Well, we can’t go without coal, and if they won’t give it we’ll take it.”

“Yes,” said Webster, looking reflectively at the fort.

The boat approached within a ship’s length, and a fat man in uniform, who held the tiller, took a long look at the Swift, then made a signal, and was rowed back again.

The fat man was met by a number of men in uniform, and after much gesticulation the whole party entered a larger boat, flying the Portuguese flag at the peak and stern, and with an awning aft.

This time they came alongside, mounted the steps, and stood twirling their black moustaches, while their dark eyes roamed over the long deck.

“Have I the pleasure of speaking to the Captain?” said the stout man, looking at a group of three.

“I am the Captain.”

“Ah! receive my respects. And the name of the ship?”

“The Swift—steam yacht.”

“True, she has the appearance of a pleasure-boat. You intend, perhaps, to remain here? The Island of Madeira is very lovely.”

“Yes,” said the Captain; “but not at present.”

“You will be going on to Teneriffe?”

“Doubtless; but we require coal. You have a good supply?”

“Why not? But this small yacht would not require much for a cruise to the Canaries.”

“About eight hundred tons, sir, is all we require.”

“Eight hundred tons, sir? Very good. With that you could reach America, possibly Brazil. Is it not so?”

Captain Pardoe bit his lip, while the stout man turned with a smile and a shrug to his companions, one of whom strolled leisurely forward.

“Perhaps eight hundred tons is more than I require, especially as I could get more on my return,” said the Captain quietly.

“I understand, sir; but that’s a matter of business arrangement with a coal-merchant. You have left England recently?”

“Four days since.”

“Four days—carambo—a quick passage! Then, sir, perhaps you can inform me of the progress of the revolution in Brazil. Have the rebels been beaten?”

“I am afraid I can give you no information about Brazil.”

“And you have not heard of the escape of a torpedo-catcher from the Thames, bound for Rio to help the rebels?”

Captain Pardoe looked astonished.

“You have surely been misinformed, señor. No vessel could get out of the Thames without the wish of the authorities.”

“I assure you, my Captain, the impossible has happened, and, believe me, I first supposed your boat was that same vessel. Ha! ha!”

“Ha! ha! what a good joke, señor!”

“Is it not?” The officer who had walked forward returned, and whispered to the stout man. “But why, my Captain, do you carry a torpedo-tube and a heavy gun? Is it to shoot gulls? Ha! ha! I am afraid, Captain, you will not get your coal here, and that your visit may be prolonged to our satisfaction. You will find the island of Madeira lovely—most beautiful. In the meantime, I may introduce you to my friend Lieutenant Guilia Gobo, who will remain your guest with these soldiers.”

The stout officer gave some order to his Lieutenant, and clambered down into his boat.

“My Captain,” he said, with a pleased smile, “may I direct your attention to our powerful fort? We have there some heavy guns; oh, very formidable.” He sat down chuckling, and rubbing his knees.

“The old boy is pleased with himself,” remarked Webster to Frank, who, together, had been amused spectators of the scene. “He euchred the Captain without trouble—an easy matter enough, by the way, in the face of that little weapon forward. Look at the skipper: dissimulation is not his rôle.”

Indeed, Captain Pardoe looked very black, as he confronted the Lieutenant and his four men.

“Well, sir,” he said, “what is the meaning of your presence on board my ship?”

“I no speak the Ingleese,” said the Lieutenant haughtily.

“But he understands it well enough,” muttered Webster.

“You don’t speak English; perhaps you will understand that I have enough coal to take me to Teneriffe, and I will leave in an hour. Up to that time you are welcome to the run of the ship, but you will find it agree ill with your uniform.”

The Lieutenant turned sharply, and shouted after his superior officer.

Captain Pardoe knitted his black brows, and was about to speak again, but turned to walk off, when he was joined by Frank.

“I understood what he said, sir.”

“So did I, Hume, but I don’t fear the fort’s guns. It is necessary to humour them, and with a little judicious palming we might win our object, but I have no genius for that work.”

“May I try, sir?”

“Certainly, Hume, do what you like, for at the worst we can throw them overboard.”

“Then, sir, set the hands to clean the ship, and send Webster ashore to lay in a stock of vegetables, fruit, and fresh meat.”

“Since when were you appointed purser, Mr Hume?”

“It will show them you do not mean to leave in a hurry, and we’ll lull their suspicions.”

The Captain issued his orders at once, and in a few minutes Webster, with the chief engineer, Mr Dixon, were being rowed ashore, while half a dozen salts, with bare legs, were turning the hose on the grimy deck, and the stokers, black almost as sweeps, came on deck to hang over the bows and pull at their well-seasoned clay pipes.

Before Webster left, Hume had drawn his attention to two large barges laden with coal which were anchored to the left, and suggested that he should find out what coal they contained.

He next dived into the main cabin, where he found Miss Laura and Mr Commins looking at the island through a port-hole. This was the first time Commins had emerged from his cabin, and though he bore traces of severe illness he was very spruce and neat in his dress, markedly so in contrast with the weather-stained appearance of the others.

Their heads were very close together, and Commins had succeeded in making his companion laugh, a little circumstance which unduly nettled Hume.

He secured some cigars, a bottle of wine, and was hurriedly leaving the cabin, when Miss Laura asked him a question or two concerning their position.

“It is so annoying,” she added, “that I dare not show myself on board, as the people here are sure to communicate with their friends in Rio.”

“I hope our young friend will be discreet,” said Commins, with irritating condescension in his manner. “Pray don’t leave the cigar-box open, otherwise the sea air will spoil the contents; and I see you have selected the choicest of the 1880 brand.”

“These are for the Portuguese Lieutenant,” said Frank shortly.

“An officer! What business has he on board?”

“It appears they suspect us, and an officer, with four men, has been placed on guard.”

“That means we have been seized,” said Commins, turning to Miss Anstrade. “I advised you not to run into a Portuguese port; but you would be guided by your headstrong Captain.”

“There is no cause for fear,” replied Frank. “We hope to be off before morning with a full supply of fuel.”

“Your hopes may be interesting to you, sir; but I, for my part, do not find them amusing.”

“Enough!” interposed Laura with a frown; then, turning to Frank, she asked him if there really was any prospect of getting away.

“There is, madam, if you have one commodity on board.”

“What is that?”

“Money!”

“Ah! come with me,” and she started for the cabin.

“Laura, don’t be imprudent. You forget.”

“No, on the contrary, Mr Commins, I remember that this gentleman has behaved nobly, and risked his life while others remained in safety.”

Mr Commins murmured something about being ill, but he shot an evil look at Frank.

“Come, Mr Hume.”

“No, madam; if you assure me, that is sufficient. It will be necessary to pay for the coal in cash.”

“You have some scheme,” she said, looking earnestly at him, and placing her fingers on his arm.

“I have, or, rather, the Captain—”

“Ah, that is better,” said Commins, with a sneer.

“Say no more, Mr Hume; I have faith in the resources and courage of my officers.” She gave him her hand, but her eyes were fixed on Commins.

Frank, somewhat uneasy at what he had witnessed of the familiarity between the two, hurried away with the wine and cigars to presently engage the Lieutenant in pleasant conversation in French.

Seeing the officer comfortably seated in the chart-room with the wine, he went to the side to receive Webster, who had returned in the best of humours with a boat-load of bananas, custard apples, grapes, vegetables, and fresh meat.

“I have left the engineer ashore, drinking Madeira with an old crony,” shouted the genial officer.

“Good,” said Frank, raising his voice. “I’ll ask the Captain to let me return for him later on. Well,” he whispered a moment later, as Webster stepped on board, “what about the barges?”

“They have 300 tons, and are waiting out there for the Cape mail steamer, due early to-morrow morning.”

“Well, the mail steamer will have to wait. That is our coal.”