The adventures of Captain Horn/Chapter 39
CHAPTER XXXIX
SHIRLEY SPIES A SAIL
When the Arato changed her mind about going to Callao, and sailed southward some five days after the Miranda had started on the same course, she had very good weather for the greater part of a week, and sailed finely. Cardatas, who owned a share in her, had sailed upon her as first mate, but he had never before commanded her. He was a good navigator, however, and well fitted for the task he had undertaken. He was a sharp fellow, and kept his eyes on everybody, particularly upon Nunez, who, although a landsman, and in no wise capable of sailing a ship, was perfectly capable of making plans regarding any vessel in which he was interested, especially when such a vessel happened to be sailing in pursuit of treasure, the value of which was merely a matter of conjecture. It was not impossible that the horse-dealer, who had embarked money in this venture, might think that one of the mariners on board might be able to sail the schooner as well as Cardatas, and would not expect so large a share of the profits should the voyage be successful. But when the storms came on, Nunez grew sick and unhappy, and retired below, and he troubled the mind of Cardatas no more for the present.
The Arato sailed well with a fair wind, but in many respects she was not as good a sea-boat in a storm as the Miranda had proved to be, and she had been obliged to lie to a great deal through the days and nights of high winds and heavy seas. Having never had, until now, the responsibility of a vessel upon him, Cardatas was a good deal more cautious and prudent, perhaps, than Captain Horn would have been had he been in command of the Arato. Among other methods of precaution which Cardatas thought it wise to take, he steered well out from the coast, and thus greatly lengthened his course, and at last, when a clearing sky enabled him to take an observation, he found himself so far to the westward that he changed his course entirely and steered for the southeast.
Notwithstanding all these retarding circumstances, Cardatas did not despair of overhauling the Miranda. He was sure she would make for the Straits, and he did not in the least doubt that, with good winds, he could overtake her before she reached them, and even if she did get out of them, he could still follow her. His belief that the Arato could sail two miles to the Miranda's one was still unshaken. The only real fear he had was that the Miranda might have foundered in the storm. If that should happen to be the case, their voyage would be a losing one, indeed, but he said nothing of his fears to Nunez.
The horse-dealer was now on deck again, in pretty fair condition, but he was beginning to be despondent. After such an awful storm, and in all that chaos of waves, what chance was there of finding a little brig such as they were after?
"But vessels sail in regular courses," Cardatas said to him. "They don't go meandering all over the ocean. If they are bound for any particular place, they go there on the shortest safe line they can lay down on the map. We can go on that line, too, although we may be thrown out of it by storms. But we can strike it again, and then all we have to do is to keep on it as straight as we can, and we are bound to over take another vessel on the same course, provided we sail faster than she does. It is all plain enough, don't you see?"
Nunez could not help seeing, but he was a little cross, nevertheless. The map and the ocean were wonderfully different.
The wind had changed, and the Arato did not make very good sailing on her southeastern course. High as was her captain's opinion of her, she never had sailed, nor ever could sail, two miles to the Miranda's one, although she was a good deal faster than the brig. But she was fairly well handled, and in due course of time she approached so near the coast that her look out sighted land, which land Cardatas, consulting his chart, concluded must be one of the Patagonian islands to the north of the Gulf of Penas.
As night came on, Cardatas determined to change his course somewhat to the south, as he did not care to trust himself too near the coast, when suddenly the lookout reported a light on the port bow. Cardatas had sailed down this coast before, but he had never heard of a lighthouse in the region, and with his glass he watched the light. But he could not make it out. It was a strange light, for sometimes it was bright and sometimes dull, then it would increase greatly and almost fade away again.
"It looks like a fire on shore," said he, and some of the other men who took the glass agreed with him.
"And what does that mean?" asked Nunez.
"I don't know," replied Cardatas, curtly. "How should I? But one thing I do know, and that is that I shall lie to until morning, and then we can feel our way near to the coast and see what it does mean."
"But what do you want to know for?" asked Nunez. "I suppose somebody on shore has built a fire. Is there any good stopping for that? We have lost a lot of time already."
"I am going to lie to, anyway," said Cardatas. "When we are on such business as ours, we should not pass anything without understanding it."
Cardatas had always supposed that these islands were uninhabited, and he could not see why anybody should be on one of them making a fire, unless it were a case of shipwreck. If a ship had been wrecked, it was not at all impossible that the Miranda might be the unfortunate vessel. In any case, it would be wise to lie to, and look into the matter by daylight. If the Miranda had gone down at sea, and her crew had reached land in boats, the success of the Arato's voyage would be very dubious. And should this misfortune have happened, he must be careful about Nunez when he came to hear of it. When he turned into his hammock that night, Cardatas had made up his mind that, if he should discover that the Miranda had gone to the bottom, it would be a very good thing if arrangements could be made for Nunez to follow her.
That night the crew of the Miranda slept well and enjoyed the first real rest they had had since the storm. No watch was kept, for they all thought it would be an unnecessary hardship. The captain awoke at early dawn, and, as he stepped out of the tent, he glanced over sea and land. There were no signs of storm, the brig had not slipped out into deep water, their boats were still high and dry upon the beach, and there was something encouraging in the soft, early light and the pleasant morning air. He was surprised, however, to find that he was not the first man out. On a piece of higher ground, a little back from the tents, Shirley was standing, a glass to his eye.
"What do you see?" cried the captain.
"A sail!" returned Shirley.
At this every man in the tents came running out. Even to the negroes the words, "A sail," had the startling effect which they always have upon ship wrecked men.
The effect upon Captain Horn was a strange one, and he could scarcely understand it himself. It was amazing that succor, if succor it should prove to be, had arrived so quickly after their disaster. But not withstanding the fact that he would be overjoyed to be taken off that desolate coast, he could not help a strong feeling of regret that a sail had appeared so soon. If they had had time to conceal their treasure, all might have been well. With the bags of gold buried in a trench, or covered with sand so as to look like a natural mound, he and his sailors might have been taken off merely as shipwrecked sailors, and carried to some port where he might charter another vessel and come back after his gold. But now he knew that whoever landed on this beach must know everything, for it would be impossible to conceal the contents of that long pile of bags, and what consequences might follow upon such knowledge it was impossible for him to imagine. Burke had very much the same idea.
"By George, captain!" said he, "it is a great pity that she came along so soon. What do you say? Shall we signal her or not? We want to get away, but it would be beastly awkward for anybody to come ashore just now. I wish we had buried the bags as fast as we brought them ashore."
The captain did not answer. Perhaps it might be as well not to signal her. And yet, this might be their only chance of rescue!
"What do you say to jumping into the boats and rowing out to meet them?" asked Burke. "We'd have to leave the bags uncovered, but we might get to a port, charter some sort of a craft, and get back for the bags before any other vessel came so near the coast,"
"I don't see what made this one come so near," said Shirley, "unless it was our fire last night. She might have thought that was a signal."
"I shouldn't wonder," said the captain, who held the glass. "But we needn't trouble ourselves about going out in boats, for she is making straight for land."
"That's so," said Shirley, who could now see this for himself, for the light was rapidly growing stronger. "She must have seen our fire last night. Shall I hoist a signal?"
"No," said the captain. "Wait!"
They waited to see what this vessel was going to do. Perhaps she was only tacking. But what fool of a skipper would run so close to the shore for the sake of tacking! They watched her eagerly, but not one of the white men would have been wholly disappointed if the schooner, which they could now easily make out, had changed her course and gone off on a long tack to the southwest.
But she was not tacking. She came rapidly on before a stiff west wind. There was no need of getting out boats to go to meet her. She was south of the headland, but was steering directly toward it. They could see what sort of craft she was—a long schooner, painted green, with all sails set. Very soon they could see the heads of the men on board. Then she came nearer and nearer to land, until she was less than half a mile from shore. Then she shot into the wind; her sails fluttered; she lay almost motionless, and her head-sails were lowered.
"That's just as if they were coming into port," said Burke.
"Yes," said Shirley. "I expect they intend to drop anchor."
This surmise was correct, for, as he spoke, the anchor went down with a splash.
"They're very business-like," said Burke. "Look at them. They are lowering a boat."
"A boat!" exclaimed Shirley. "They're lowering two of them."
The captain knit his brows. This was extraordinary action on the part of the vessel. Why did she steer so straight for land? Why did she so quickly drop anchor and put out two boats? Could it be that this vessel had been on their track? Could it be that the Peruvian government— But he could not waste time in surmise as to what might be. They must act, not conjecture.
It was not a minute before the captain made up his mind how they should act. Five men were in each boat, and with a glass it was easy to see that some of them carried guns.
"Get your rifles!" cried he to Shirley and Burke, and he rushed for his own.
The arms and ammunition had been all laid ready in the tent, and in a moment each one of the white men had a rifle and a belt of cartridges. For the blacks there were no guns, as they would not have known how to use them, but they ran about in great excitement, each with his knife drawn, blindly ready to do whatever should be ordered. The poor negroes were greatly frightened. They had but one idea about the approaching boats: they believed that the men in them were Rackbirds coming to wreak vengeance upon them. The same idea had come into the mind of the captain. Some of the Rackbirds had gone back to the cove. They had known that there had been people there. They had made investigations, and found the cave and the empty mound, and in some way had discovered that the Miranda had gone off with its contents. Perhaps the black fellow who had deserted the vessel at Valparaiso had betrayed them. He hurriedly mentioned his suspicions to his companions.
"I shouldn't wonder," said Burke, "if that Inkspot had done it. Perhaps he could talk a good deal better than we thought. But I vow I wouldn't have supposed that he would be the man to go back on us. I thought he was the best of the lot."
"Get behind that wall of bags," cried the captain, "every one of you. Whoever they are, we will talk to them over a breastwork."
"I think we shall have to do more than talk," said Burke, "for a blind man could see that there are guns in those boats."