CHAPTER X
SMOKE ON THE HORIZON
An angry swell rolled along the coast, dust blew across the flat-roofed town, and Mossamedes, with two anchors out, rode uneasily. She had unloaded some cargo and Kit, going ashore in the evening, speculated about the rest. He did not think he was superstitious, but the voyage had not begun well, and he wanted to get it over. There was something strange about the business in which he was engaged, and he resolved he would talk to Wolf when he returned.
Moreover, he did not like the dirty Moorish town. When it got dark the narrow streets were forbidding, but Yusuf declared he could not transact the ship's business until he closed his shop. In the Canaries and Morocco, rich merchants keep a shop. One could buy a shipload of their goods or a few pesetas' worth.
Yusuf's little room was very hot. The dust had blown in, and the floor was gritty. Flies hovered about the copper lamp which burned an aromatic oil. The agent gave Kit coffee and a cigarette. The tobacco was bitter but soothing and Kit imagined it was mixed with an Eastern drug. At Yusuf's he generally felt dull; perhaps it was the smell of the lamp, leather and spices. They began to talk, and presently Kit remarked: "If you send your boats to-morrow, we will hoist out the last of the cargo. Have you got much stuff for us?"
"I have got nothing," said Yusuf, smiling. "Your cargo is on board."
"All the goods we carry are consigned to the Greek merchant here and you."
"That is so, but I will endorse the bill of lading, and file a statement for the Customs officers that the cases of machinery will be landed at another port."
"Ah!" said Kit who began to see a light. "Then we are to carry the cases along the coast? I was puzzled about this lot of cargo; but we got it from a Spanish ship at Las Palmas. The cases were put on board in daylight when two of the port captain's men were on deck.
"The plan was good," Yusuf remarked. "When one does things openly nobody is curious."
"All the same, the Moorish officers know machinery is not used in the Sahara."
"It is not the officers' business. They are friends of mine, and in this country a present carries some weight."
Kit knew Wolf and his agent were clever, but began to think they were cleverer than he liked. He felt he was being used, and, so to speak, kept in the dark. He did not know the others' plans, in which he was involved, but if the plans did not work, he thought he ran some risk. Yusuf was subtle, and Kit's instinctive antagonism hardened. For all that, he was Wolf's servant and must carry out his agent's orders.
"I will endorse the bill of lading," the other resumed. "You will land the boxes at the spot you got the camels, and the owner will take his goods. Perhaps he will keep the document for a talisman. Some of these people have a strange respect for all that is written on paper."
"Very well," said Kit, who got up.
Yusuf went with him to the door, and Kit starting along the street, heard the heavy bolts shoot back. To know the business was over was something of a relief. Although Yusuf was inscrutable at his house one got a sense of fear and secrecy. In Morocco a Jew trader was perhaps forced to use caution, but Kit thought he would sooner deal with the wild Berbers who ruled the open desert. Yet he owned he had no firm grounds for doubting Wolf's agent. When he got on board Mossamedes he went to the chart-room and found Don Erminio playing cards with the mate. The captain had won two pesetas and was jubilant.
"Juan is clever and cautious. I am not clever, but I am bold," he said.
Kit noted the bottle on the table. When Don Erminio drank a few glasses of caña he philosophised. Kit narrated his interview with Yusuf, and the captain looked thoughtful.
"It is plain the boxes hold guns," he said. "The Moors do not carry guns to shoot the rabbit, and if we land the boxes somebody will get killed. However, it is not important. The Moors are numerous and all are bad."
"I was not thinking about the Moors," Kit rejoined. "The business is strange. The guns were on board a Spanish ship and if the Moors use them to steal camels, the camels will no doubt be stolen on soil that is claimed by France. There may be trouble afterwards. Our employer knows this."
Don Erminio picked up the cards. Spanish cards are not marked like English cards, but Kit thought the one the captain indicated stood for the ace of clubs.
"Bastones!" Don Erminio remarked and shuffled the pack. "I put it at the bottom. You see it is there? Now take three away and you will find it at the top. A trick, but clever. Señor Wolf plays a game like this."
Kit carried out his instructions and laughed. "Wolf is, no doubt, clever, but this is not the card."
Don Erminio frowned and swept the pack on to the floor. The swing-table tilted, but Juan stretched out his hand and seized the bottle.
"Señor!" he expostulated. "The caña cost two pesetas!"
"I have forgotten something. All the same, you see the moral," Don Erminio resumed. "Merchants are cheats and use cunning tricks. One thinks one knows their plan, but one does not. One puts one's money on the wrong card and it is gone. Sailors are honest and do not get rich. Well, we will carry out our orders. That is enough for me. I have drunk some caña and in the morning my throat is bad."
Two days afterwards Mossamedes hove her anchors and steamed south. As a rule, the Trade-breeze blows steadily, but now and then its strength varies. Sometimes a little rain falls and the day is nearly calm; sometimes the wind backs north and blows hard. Mossamedes' holds were almost empty and her rolling was wild. When she plunged across the long swell, half her screw came out of the water and one heard the top blades thrash. Don Erminio followed the coast, steering as near land as he durst. He wanted to avoid the traffic, and Mossamedes, going light, did not draw much water. She was built to cross the sands at African river mouths.
One morning Kit went to the bridge. The sun was not high and the air was fresh. The wind had dropped, and the faint haze that generally softens the light and glitter when the Trade-breeze blows had vanished. The sky was a harsh, vivid blue, and the tops of the long rollers cut the horizon with sharp distinctness. They did not break, but rose and subsided, leaving here and there soft streaks of foam. For all that, the swell ran high, Mossamedes lurched about, and Kit thought wind was coming. He was bothered about it. If the wind were fresh, they could not land their dangerous cargo. The mate leaned against a stanchion and searched the sky-line with his glasses. After a time he gave the glasses to Kit.
"Look!" he said.
Kit saw a faint brown smear drawn across the sky. It was rather like a thin cloud, but he thought it smoke. When the wind is light, a steamer's smoke spreads far and floats for some time. The strange thing was, the steamer was there, inside the proper track. He glanced at Mossamedes' funnel but the last coal they had got was good and diaphanous vapour rolled astern. Kit put down the glasses and went to the captain's room. Don Erminio came out, studied the smoke, and frowned. He wore pyjamas and a shooting jacket, torn at the back.
"The animals cannot see us, but a steamer ought not to be so near the coast," he said. "Then we will soon reach the spot where we land the guns."
"Perhaps the captain takes a drink," Juan remarked.
"It is possible. When I drink much caña, my calculations are not good," Don Erminio agreed. "All the same, to run a risk is foolish. We will stop and use the lead."
After he got a sounding he changed his course three or four points east and steered obliquely for the land. In the meantime the smoke vanished and Kit went down and told Macallister to keep his fires clean. To see smoke where smoke ought not to be was disturbing, and if the others had seen Mossamedes, they would speculate about her captain's object for navigating shallow water.
When Kit went on deck again the swell had begun to break and ran ominously high. The wind was not yet strong, but it strengthened and the sky in the north was black. At noon, a sailor in the rigging thought he saw smoke again. Don Erminio went up with his glasses, but saw nothing and gave the glasses to Kit.
"The Norther begins," he said.
In the distance, a brown fog obscured the horizon and Kit knew it was a dust-storm blowing off the coast. Spray leaped about Mossamedes' forecastle, her plunges were violent and to hold on to the rigging while the mast swung was hard. They went down and soon afterwards the look-out hailed. Kit was on deck and joined Don Erminio on the bridge. When Mossamedes lifted, two masts and the top of a funnel cut the horizon. Kit thought it ominous that he saw no smoke.
The sea had got up and long, white-topped combers rolled after the ship. When her stern swung out of the water the engines ran away and their savage throbbing shook the deck. With her rudder lifted, she did not steer, and while the helmsman sweated at the wheel she yawed about until her quarters sank and the screw got hold. One could not drive her fast, but much of her side was above water and the savage wind helped. For a time the other vessel's smoke vanished in the thickening spray. Then they saw her again, sharp and distinct. The ominous thing was, they did not, as they might have expected, see her on the quarter but abeam. It was plain that when Mossamedes changed her course, or soon afterwards, the stranger had changed hers.
"The French gunboat!" Don Erminio said and clenched his fist. "Somebody has sold us."
Going to the compass, he got the other's bearing, and Kit marked his coolness. When the strain was steady the captain did not tear his hair. He took Kit and the mate to the chart-room, and a few moments afterwards Macallister came up. The rules of the British liners were not used on board Mossamedes, and Don Erminio spread a chart on the table. Then he lighted a cigarette and indicated the steamer's course along, but converging on, the coast.
"The wady is not far ahead," he remarked and put a pin in the spot. "To cross the shoals might be dangerous and I doubt if our anchor would hold. However, if we do not cross, the animal will soon be nearer."
It was obvious when the captain sketched a triangle, of which the gunboat occupied the apex and Mossamedes' course was the base. In order to clear the shoals she must shorten the base and, steaming out, lessen the distance between them; if she turned and steamed the other way the gunboat would come down obliquely and cut her line. The long chase is the stern chase, but Mossamedes could not make off like this because she was jambed against the coast. Two things were plain: the Frenchman commanded the faster vessel and had well chosen her position.
"The Jew has sold us, but just now it is not important," Don Erminio resumed. "We cannot long run away from the French animal, but I have a plan. We will throw the guns overboard and wait for him."
He looked at Kit, who hesitated for a few moments. The captain's plan had marked advantages and some drawbacks. For one thing, the guns were valuable and if they were sacrificed Wolf must front a heavy loss. Moreover, if they were not delivered, the tribes with whom he traded would refuse to trust him again. This counted for much, but Kit was not altogether thinking about Wolf. His rule was to do what he undertook, and to do so now might baffle the man who had cheated him.
"I think not," he said. "Our business is to deliver our cargo. If Yusuf has plotted with the Frenchman, we must spoil the plot, and I don't know a better plan than to carry out his orders. He sent us south to land the guns and we will land them. It will soon be dark, and if we get across the shoals there is some shelter behind the sands. Revillon durst not cross."
"Buen' muchacho!" said the captain and looked at Macallister. "It will be dark at six o'clock. Can we keep in front?"
Macallister knitted his brows. "I'll no' say it's easy. When the screw's jumping oot o' water ye cannot get much grip to shove her along. For a' that, yon stump-tail gunboat will jump worse, and the old engine's good. If she does not shake off her screw, I'll keep ye ahead."
Kit began to translate, but the captain smiled. "Me, I know the English. Don Pedro good ol' sport. Bueno; muy bueno! I jump much en caballo; now I jump the sandbank. If the other thinks he catch us, we drown the animal."
Kit thought it possible. Mossamedes was built with heavy bottom frames to bump across African river bars, and was going light. He imagined the gunboat's draught was some feet more than hers. All the same, the thing was risky. If Mossamedes touched the sand she might not come off.
"It is good! I go for Miguel Sænz," Juan, the mate, agreed.
CHAPTER XI
MIGUEL TAKES CONTROL
A black cloud rolled from Mossamedes' funnel and blew across her bows. The beat of engines quickened and when the stern swung up their furious racing shook the ship. Kit pictured Macallister, sternly calm, at the throttle wheel. Much depended on his skill, for if he were slow when the spinning screw came down and the runaway machinery resumed its load, something must break. Kit, however, did not go to the engine-room. He stood at the door of the pilot-house, inside which Miguel Sænz gripped the slanted gratings with his bare feet. His face was wet by sweat and his brown hand was clenched on the steam-steering wheel.
Although the muscular effort was not great, steering was hard. Mossamedes rode high above water and the gale pressed upon her side; the combers lifted her, and screw and rudder could not get proper hold. Sometimes she came up to windward and rolled until the white seas swept her rail; sometimes she yawed to lee. Kit saw the bows circle and pictured the compass spinning in its bowl.
So far, Miguel steered by compass. Don Erminio had changed his course and headed obliquely for the shoals. It was not the course the gunboat's captain would expect him to steer. Revillon, no doubt, imagined the line along which Mossamedes travelled inclined at a small angle out to sea, in order to clear the hammered sands, and he could steam down from his commanding position and cut her off. The line, however, really slanted the other way. Dark clouds obscured the sky, the light was bad, and the driving spray made accurate observation hard. Kit thought Don Erminio's plan was good, but longed for dark.
Sometimes he saw the gunboat's masts, and sometimes, when a comber lifted Mossamedes, he saw her hull. She was getting indistinct and dusk was not far off. Kit imagined she flew some signals, but one need not bother about the flags. Revillon could not launch a boat, and there was not much use in shooting from a rolling platform at a mark that for the most part could not be seen. Besides, Kit thought Revillon would not use his guns. Commanding the faster vessel, his plan was to pin Mossamedes to the coast and when the gale blew out come on board and search her. Then, if the cargo was not jettisoned, she might perhaps be seized. Kit did not know much about international rules, but if he threw the guns overboard, Revillon would after all win the game. Guns lying at the bottom of the sea could not be landed in Africa.
Kit felt his youth and responsibility. Standing for his employer, he had urged the captain to hold on to the cargo. Yusuf's treachery had made him savage; he felt he had been cheated like a child, but this was not all. Kit did not mean to let the cunning brute rob his master. He was Wolf's man and his business was to guard his interests. Moreover, he was moved unconsciously by inherited stubbornness. He had engaged to land the guns and was going to do so.
In the meantime he thought his luck strange. Not long since he was a humble shipping clerk, occupied by tame, conventional duties; now he was a smuggler, breaking rules ambassadors and men like that had drawn. All the same, in a way, the adventure was not romantic. There was no shooting, and for the most part one could not see the pursuing ship. Before long, Kit hoped, one could not see her at all. The risk was rather from the sea than the gunboat. For all that, Kit knew two men bore a heavy strain; Macallister on his reeling platform, guarding his engines from sudden shock; and Miguel at the wheel. When Kit looked into the pilot-house the quartermaster's pose was rigid, his mouth was hard, and his eyes were fixed on the revolving compass. Steam pulled across the rudder, but one must use nerve and sound judgment to hold Mossamedes straight.
By and by another man climbed the ladder and went into the pilot-house. Miguel came out and joined the captain. He looked slack, as if he felt the reaction now the strain was gone, and held on by the rails while he looked about. Kit saw his cotton clothes were stained by sweat; the wind blew the thin material against his skin. He wore a tight red knitted cap, and the spray beat upon his face. The captain talked, and gesticulated when the turmoil of the sea drowned his voice.
The light was going fast and the gunboat had melted into the gloom, but her smoke rolled in a thick black trail across the water. It looked as if she were steaming hard and Revillon did not try to hide his advance. Kit wondered whether he imagined he had pinned Mossamedes against the shoals and meant to shorten the distance in order not to lose her in the dark. Mossamedes made no smoke; Macallister kept his fires thin and clean and it was important that the gunboat's smoke was now on her quarter. This indicated that Revillon did not know she had swung off a few points and steered for the land.
Kit waited until the ship went up on a comber's back, and then looked ahead. The sea was angrier. Some distance in front were broad white belts where the rollers broke in savage turmoil. Between the belts Kit thought he saw a gap, in which the seas were regular. In the distance a brown haze indicated a dust storm raging about the point. One might find some shelter behind the point, but not much.
High-water was near, and although on the open Atlantic coast the rise of tide is not marked, the moon was new and one might perhaps expect an extra fathom's depth. Then, if Mossamedes could get across to the pool, when the ebb began to run the sands would lie like a breakwater between her and the sea. Kit rather doubted if she could get across. One could see no marks, the captain durst not stop for proper soundings and the hand-lead, used from a platform that constantly changed its level, was not much guide.
All the same, it looked as if old Miguel meant to try. For a few moments he stood with his eyes fixed ahead and his lean, upright figure at an angle with the slanted bridge; then he turned and went into the wheel-house. His slackness was gone, his movements were somehow resolute. The other man came out of the house, and Kit saw Macallister at the top of the ladder. Holding on by rails, the engineer looked about.
"If Miguel's saint is watching now we'll no' be independent and refuse his help." he said. "For a' that, there's a line in the Vaya that betther meets our bill – "
He misquoted from the sailing permit of the Spanish correo, but Kit knew the line and, with the raging shoals ahead, owned its force. When one fronted the fury of the sea, words like that meant much.
"The mill's good and running weel, but if Miguel's no' sure and steady, there's no much use in my keeping steam," Macallister resumed. "The bit spark o' human intelligence ootweighs a' the power that's bottled in my furnaces. I dinna see what's to guide him, but maybe the old fella thinks like a baccalao."
"Baccalao is salt fish," said Kit.
"It was swimming before it was sautit," Macallister rejoined. "Then ye dinna get fish in deep water; they seek their meat in the channels and the tides that run across the sands. Weel, Miguel has his job. I'll away to mine."
He went down the ladder, but Kit clung to the rails. He had not a job; his part was played when he urged Don Erminio to steer for the land, and now as he watched the white seas curl and break he knew his rashness. The steamer's course was a zig-zag; with the savage wind on her quarter, her bows swerved about. All Miguel could do was to let one divergence balance the other. In front was an ominous white crescent, running back into the dark, but broken by a gap in the middle. A man, strapped outside the bridge, hove the lead, but this was an obvious formality, because if he got shallow water Mossamedes could not steam out. If Miguel tried to bring her round, she would drive, broadside on, against the hammered sands.
There was no smoke astern. Revillon, no doubt, had seen the surf and hauled off, but Mossamedes went inshore fast. The horns of the crescent enclosed her and Kit no longer saw a gap. The sea was all a white turmoil and furious combers rolled up astern. One felt them run forward, as if they travelled up an inclined plane, and the ship rode dizzily on their spouting crests. Then for a time Kit saw nothing. Foam enveloped Mossamedes, her deck vanished, and he was beaten and blinded. He could hold on, but this was all; the spray came over the wheel-house like a cataract. Kit knew Mossamedes was swinging round because the wind now blew across the house.
The plunges got less violent and the spray was thinner. One saw the iron bulwarks, and the winches in the forward well, about which an angry flood washed. At the end of the bridge, Don Erminio's figure, looking strangely slanted, cut the sky. Mossamedes had run through the gap and was in deeper water behind the sands. Yet the water was not all deep. Another shoal occupied part of the basin and Kit tried to recapture its bearings as he had noted them when he went fishing in the boat. He found he could not. When the light was strong and the swell slow, one could judge distance and know the depth by the changing colour and the measured line of foam. Now there was nothing but foam that tossed in the dark.
Mossamedes forged ahead, and Kit wondered whether Don Erminio knew where he went. On the whole, he thought the captain did not know; sometimes one must blindly trust one's luck. She came round again, lurched by the turmoil on a sand, and steamed head to wind. Then Miguel came to the door of the wheel-house.
"We are arrived, señor!"
Don Erminio signed to the leadsman, who swung the plummet round his head and let go.
"Good! We have water enough," said the captain, and rang the telegraph.
The reversed engines shook the ship and the anchor plunged. She stopped, and but for the roar of the breakers all was quiet. Somehow Miguel had brought her across the sands. When she dragged out her cable the guns were hoisted up and put near the gangway, where, if needful, one could heave the boxes overboard. Miguel cleared the cargo launch ready for launching and they stripped the covers from a lifeboat.
Since they had brought their dangerous cargo to the spot agreed, Kit was resolved it must be landed. To carry out Yusuf's orders was perhaps the best plan to defeat his treachery, and Kit thought his doing so had a touch of humour. He felt he would like to see Yusuf again, but he need not bother much about Revillon. The Frenchman had chased Mossamedes and lost her; if he returned at daybreak, he would not venture across the sands. Anyhow, they could get rid of the evidence against them soon after they saw the gunboat's smoke. All the same, Kit meant to land the guns.
When all was ready he went to the engineers' mess-room and smoked. He was highly strung and could not sleep, but to wait for daybreak was hard. The gunboat might arrive and he doubted if the cargo launch could cross the surf. One must run some risk, but he was not going to drown his men. He heard the wind, although its roar was dulled by other noises. Then Mossamedes rolled, the water in her bilges splashed about, chains clanged on deck, and one heard hammers and shovels in the stokehold. Strange echoes rolled about the empty iron hull.
Now and then Don Erminio came down and talked about shooting rabbits; sometimes Macallister pulled back the curtain, lighted his pipe, and philosophised, but did not stop long. Barefooted firemen and sailors flitted along the alleyway; it looked as if nobody could rest. At length, when Kit's mouth was parched from smoking, he got up, shivered, and turned off the light. A pale glimmer pierced the glass, and putting on a thick jacket, he went on deck.
Day was breaking and it was cold. The wind was dropping, but the swell ran high, and the sand blew from the point like a brown fog. Under the fog were white lines of surf. By and by Don Erminio climbed the rigging and Kit joined him where the steel shrouds got narrow. The mast swung, carrying them with it in a reeling sweep, until they could have dropped into the sea. In the meantime the light had got stronger and presently Don Erminio gave the glasses to Kit. So far as one could see, nothing broke the horizon.
"It is good," said Don Erminio. "The animal is gone. We will get to work."