CHAPTER VI
BETTY CARRIES A MESSAGE
The morning was hot and Betty had pulled the curtains across the arch. She typed an English letter and thought about Kit. Although she knew he had gone to Mrs. Austin's, it was some days since she had seen him and his steamer would soon sail. Betty had expected him to say good-bye to her and was hurt because he had not. Presently she heard Jefferson's step in the patio. He stopped and somebody crossed the flags.
"Come inside, the sun is pretty fierce," he said, and Olivia went through the arch.
"I think you know Miss Jordan," Jefferson resumed.
Betty stopped her typewriter. She was in the shadow and studied Olivia, who stood where the strong light shone into the room. Betty thought her clothes were made in London or Paris; they were in the latest exaggerated fashion, but she admitted that Miss Brown's beauty justified her wearing clothes like that. Betty, herself, wore plain white, and a cheap, Spanish sewing woman had helped her to make the dress.
"It looks as if you had got up before Harry, although you kept him for some time last night," Olivia said to Jefferson, and took out a small packet. "He had not begun his breakfast when the mail arrived with some samples you want for Morocco. Harry thought Mr. Musgrave might leave them for your agent at Saffi, but our man was not about and I was going to the shops."
Jefferson pulled out his watch. "Thanks, I'll send the thing on board. I'm going up town. Will you come along?"
"I'll stop in your cool office for a few minutes," Olivia replied, and Jefferson turned to Betty.
"Felix will be around soon. Send him off with the packet. I expect Musgrave will be at the Commandancia. You have about half an hour."
He went off and Olivia lighted a cigarette. She threw the match on the floor, and although people smoke in Spanish offices Betty was annoyed. She wondered whether Miss Brown's carelessness was studied, but after a few moments Olivia gave her a thoughtful look.
"I understand Kit Musgrave is an old friend of yours."
"He is my friend," said Betty.
"Then I expect you know he's satisfied with his post. All the same, he ought to give it up."
Betty said nothing. She thought she saw why Miss Brown had brought the packet, but did not see where she led. Besides, she was conscious of a subtle antagonism. The girl was not the type whose friendship was good for Kit. In the meantime, Olivia occupied herself with her cigarette. She had meant to make an experiment and satisfy her curiosity, for Kit had not come to the veranda much since his return and she had missed him when he was away.
"He ought to go back to the correillo," she resumed. "However, I expect you know he's obstinate."
"Sometimes he's firm," said Betty, quietly, although quietness was hard.
She did know Kit was obstinate, but to allow Miss Brown to talk about it was another thing. Besides, she was bothered about the other's object for stating Kit ought to go back.
"Oh, well, it's really not important," Olivia replied as if she were bored. "I thought perhaps you might persuade Kit to rejoin the Campeador." She paused and smiled carelessly. "I can't, I admit I tried."
"Why do you want Mr. Musgrave to leave his ship? I understand your sister got him the post."
Olivia was embarrassed, although her embarrassment was not obvious. She had begun by wanting to baffle Mrs. Austin, whose object for sending Kit on board Mossamedes was plain. This, however, was some time since, and now she did not know what she did want. She would not acknowledge Kit her lover, but she liked to know he was about. All the same, her efforts to separate him from Wolf were to some extent unselfish.
"I don't want Kit to leave the Mossamedes; I think it better for him to do so," she rejoined. "It's possible my sister did get him the post. Jacinta does things like that, but sometimes her plans do not work as she hoped."
"Then, when Mrs. Austin sent Kit to Africa she had a plan?"
Olivia looked up sharply and threw her cigarette on the floor. She had not found out much and did not mean to argue with Jefferson's clerk.
"We don't get forward, and I can't stop," she said. "I'll tell you all I know. I think my sister doubts Wolf; Jefferson frankly distrusts him. He was talking to Harry on the veranda and I was in the room behind. It was plain they were puzzled about Wolf. Jefferson said the fellow was playing a crooked game, and Kit ought to quit. Anyhow, he ought to know his boss's African scheme was a cover for something else, and he was going to use the French captain. Wolf meant to give Revillon a part in the plot."
Olivia got up. "That's all, but I rather agree with Jefferson."
"If you think Mr. Musgrave ought to be warned, why didn't you warn him?"
"For one thing, I imagined you were his friend," Olivia rejoined with a careless smile. "To write a note is sometimes awkward, the steamer sails very soon, and it's obvious I can't go on board and ask for the sobrecargo. Well, you are Jefferson's clerk and have the packet of samples. You can go – if you like!"
The curtain swung back, and for a minute or two Betty pondered. Her curiosity was excited, and she wondered much how far Olivia's interest in Kit went; that it went some distance was plain. Betty felt a keen antagonism for the fashionable and rather scornful girl. Yet to some extent the other's object was good; Betty thought Kit ought to be warned about his employer. All the same, Miss Brown's statement that Betty could warn him was hardly accurate. Spanish conventions were strict and Betty knew the gossip that marked the English circle. If she went on board the steamer, people would talk and Mrs. Jefferson would be annoyed. But Felix, Jefferson's boatman, did not arrive, and Betty looked at her watch. Something must be risked and perhaps she might meet Kit outside the Commandancia office. Picking up the packet, she got her hat.
A tartana waited for passengers at the end of the street, and she got down at the Catalina mole. Mossamedes' windlass rattled, and her cable was coming in, but a boat with the African house-flag painted on the bow lay against the wall, and Betty knew Kit had not gone on board. For all that, she did not see him, and the steamer's anchor would soon be up. If he did not come in a minute or two, she would have no time for talk. Then he ran out of the office, pushing some papers into his pocket, and stopped.
"Hallo!" he said. "You are kind to see me off."
"I didn't come to see you off. At least, that wasn't all," Betty replied.
"Oh, well," Kit said, laughing, "you're generally frank. I'd rather have liked to think you did want to see me off. Anyhow, I'm glad you have arrived."
Betty gave him the packet and he noted the address.
"All right, I'll land it at Saffi. I wish you had come sooner. They've broken the anchor out."
She went across the mole with him and stopped at the top of the steps. He looked keen, alert and handsome. His white clothes were well made, his thin figure was athletic, and Betty liked his smile. She felt rewarded; Kit was glad she had come. The trouble was, she could not send him off like that.
"There's another thing," she said. "Jefferson thinks you ought not to stop on board Mossamedes. He declares Wolf is not to be trusted."
"Ah!" said Kit, rather sharply. "But how do you know?"
Betty braced herself. She must be honest, although it was plain honesty might cost her something.
"Miss Brown came to the office half an hour since and brought the packet. She heard Jefferson talk to Austin about Wolf, and thought you ought to be warned."
"She came to the office!" Kit exclaimed, and Betty saw his satisfaction. "Well, she's very kind. But she sent a message?"
"Wolf is plotting something in Africa. His business isn't what it looks. Captain Revillon has some part in it."
Kit laughed. "Miss Brown meant well, you mean well, but you don't understand. Wolf is cheating the French captain. He'd an object for asking him to the feast. In fact, I see his plan."
"I don't think Miss Brown was cheated," Betty urged.
Mossamedes' whistle shrieked, foam splashed about her stern and she began to forge ahead. Kit shouted to the men in the boat and Betty gave him her hand.
"Don't bother about the thing," he said. "Perhaps Wolf is rather tricky, but I know him and I won't get hurt. Anyhow, Miss Brown was kind to let me know, and you're a good sort to carry the message."
"Still, you'll use some caution, Kit," said Betty, but he waved his hand and ran down the steps.
Mossamedes circled slowly and forged by the end of the mole, her white deck-houses shining in the sun. Kit's boat vanished round her stern, smoke rolled from her funnel, and with a white wave breaking at her bows she steamed out of the harbour. For a time Betty watched the ship and her thoughts were moody.
She had refused Kit at Liverpool because both were poor. Tired, as she was, of badly-rewarded labour, she might have been satisfied to occupy her self with frugal housekeeping, had she not seen that for Kit to marry meant bondage for him. A married clerk with Kit's pay durst run no risks, he must stick to his job, indulge his employers and wait for them to offer him better wages. She might have promised to marry Kit and let him go to try his luck; but she knew girls whose lovers had gone away. One had come back another man, and Betty imagined he saw the girl he dutifully married was not the girl he had thought. The others had not come back at all.
It was not that Betty doubted Kit. He was staunch and did all he engaged to do, but he was young. Betty imagined his was a boy's romance and she did not want him to return for her because he thought he ought. Besides, he had some talent and might make his mark abroad. If he did so, she was not going to embarrass him. In fact, she, so to speak, resolved that Kit must have his chance.
Now he was obviously attracted by Miss Brown, and Betty knew Olivia was not the girl for him. Moreover, she was persuaded Olivia saw his drawbacks. Kit was poor, his infatuation was ridiculous, and to find it out would hurt, but Kit would find out. Betty frowned because she could not help.
By and by she noted that Mossamedes' masts and funnel were getting indistinct. The ship's hull had melted to a dark streak, seen for a moment when she plunged across a roller's crest, and Betty got up. She had stopped longer than she ought and must hurry back to the office. As she went along the mole she remembered that she had been willing to risk something in order to warn Kit, and he had laughed. Sometimes one's fine resolutions were rewarded like that. Perhaps the thing was amusing, but her smile was dreary.
At the office she found Jefferson reading a newspaper.
"I see you haven't begun the English letters," he remarked. "Did Olivia stop long?"
Betty said the boatman had not arrived, and she had taken the packet to the mole.
"Well, I wanted the thing to go across. I reckon you gave it to Musgrave?"
"I did so," said Betty and noted Jefferson's twinkle. All the same, she thought his taking out his watch was unconscious.
"Perhaps you had better go ahead with the letters," he said.
Betty started her typewriter, but her thoughts were not fixed on what she wrote. She pondered about Wolf and was vaguely disturbed. Kit had laughed at Olivia's warning, but sometimes Kit was confident and rash. After all, it was possible Miss Brown was justified. Then Betty glanced at a letter she took from the machine and tore the sheet across. Jefferson was not fastidious, but he liked his customers to know what he meant. She could think about Wolf and Kit again, and in the meantime must concentrate on her proper duty. Olivia Brown could indulge her romantic imagination when she liked, but Betty was a merchant's clerk.
CHAPTER VII
SHIPPING CAMELS
Mossamedes dropped anchor as near as was safe to the flat-roofed Moorish town. The roadstead was open and the harbour was only deep enough for boats, but so long as the wind did not back to the North one could ship cargo, and the agent sent off a quantity of maize and beans. In the Canaries corn is scarce, and the peons roast and grind such grain as they can get for their coarse gofio meal. Kit was rather disturbed about the cartridges, although Wolf's Jewish agent had so far refused to state when they would go on board. Kit was the steamship company's servant, the ship was British, and he thought he ought to have warned the manager how she might be used. The trouble was, he was Wolf's servant, too. Besides, it was possible Don Ramon was informed.
When the grain was on board Kit went one evening to the agent's house. Yusuf was old and yellow-skinned. His beard was thin and his long hair greasy with scented oil, but he had a touch of dignity. Kit went through a little dark shop to his office and sat on a low, flat-topped couch. An iron chest stood against the opposite wall, and an open lamp hung by chains from the roof. A door with a horseshoe arch and a leather curtain led to the house; the door to the shop was strong and iron-bound. One very narrow window pierced the wall. The Jews have long traded in Morocco, but they know the risk, and Kit generally found it a relief to finish his business and get back to the harbour. Yusuf transacted Wolf's business in the evening, and when Kit arrived the copper lamp was lighted.
Yusuf gave him a little cup of black coffee and a cigarette with a strange, bitter taste. Then he talked about the grain, and presently took a long roll of paper and some documents from the chest.
"This voyage we will give you camels," he said in good Castilian. "You will get them where you got the sheep. Since you will not come back, I will give you the bills of lading for the captain to sign."
"The rule is to sign the bills of lading when the goods are shipped," Kit remarked.
"In this country English rules do not go. A trader must run some risks and you will need proper documents for the Spanish officers."
Kit agreed. Wolf had told him he must trust Yusuf, but he did not, although he was willing to carry out his orders. There was something secretive about the old fellow; one felt strange plans were made in his small dark shop. In fact, Kit would have trusted nobody in the town. The people were a strange, silent lot; the Moors stamped by an inscrutable reserve. The Jews and half-breed Christians looked furtive and afraid. To hear the negroes' noisy talk was a relief, but all was quiet after dark.
"I understand you have some other cargo for us," he remarked.
"That is so. When you go back to your boat you will find the boxes are on board."
Kit thought it strange. His boat lay alongside the little mole, where people could see goods carried down, and since Yusuf had got the cartridges Kit wondered why he had not smuggled them off overland. To use a steamer like Mossamedes to carry a few boxes along the coast was a strange plan; but then the business was all strange.
"Where must we land the goods?" he asked.
"I will show you," said Yusuf, and when he unrolled the long paper Kit saw with some surprise it was a good chart of the African coast.
"You will anchor here and signal," he said, marking a spot. "When you see smoke among the sandhills send off your boat. Afterwards you will steam back to the anchorage you know and wait for the camels."
"But we may wait for some time," Kit objected, noting the distance between the spots.
"I think not. A messenger will be sent and a good camel travels fast," Yusuf replied, and Kit, picking up the chart, started for the harbour.
The night was not dark and when he jumped on board his boat he noted a row of small boxes stowed in the bottom.
"But this stuff is heavy!" said old Miguel, striking a cardboard match.
Kit told him to put out the match, but was relieved to see the boxes were not numerous. Then they had, so to speak, been put on board openly, and Kit felt that after all he need not bother Don Ramon about the thing.
"We will go. Push off," he said.
The men pulled down the harbour. A smooth swell rolled in and two or three anchor lights tossed and swung. By and by engines throbbed in the dark, and Kit saw moving beams of red and green. The French gunboat had arrived the day before, and her launch was coming off from the mole. For a minute or two Kit was disturbed, but the launch steamed by and vanished in the dark. Kit steered for Mossamedes' lights and when he got on board went to the captain's room. Don Erminio, wearing his old English clothes, fronted Macallister in greasy dungarees, and between them some bottles and glasses balanced the swing-table. Kit put down the bills of lading and remarked that he had agreed the captain would sign the documents.
"But of course," said Don Erminio, "when I sign for Señor Wolf, I will sign all you ask. When I sign for me, it is another thing. Then, if I am not cautious, somebody gets my dollars."
"Where are we going?" Macallister asked.
Kit spread out the chart and indicated the spot Yusuf had marked on the curve of a bay. It looked as if landing would not be hard, but although the chart did not give the political frontiers, he imagined the bay was outside the Spanish belt.
"I expect the coast is French. It's awkward; particularly since we carry cartridges."
"Senegal's French," said Macallister. "The rest is nobody's; the strongest tribe uses the ground it wants. Man, they're amusing fellows at the foreign offices. Do they think they can parcel out Africa wi' a gold fountain pen?"
"Sometimes the French foreign office uses the foreign legion."
"Must I teach ye geography? The legion leeves in Algeria, and that's t'ither side the country o' Kaid Maclean."
"It is not important," Don Erminio remarked. "All politicians are animals, and if the Moors shoot somebody with the cartridges, it is not my affair. I will catch fish for baccalao and then my señora will not want much money."
Kit put away the chart and went on deck. He rather envied Don Erminio's philosophical carelessness. The captain did not bother; if he could catch fish and shoot rabbits, he was satisfied. Kit was not like that. His job was to keep things going smoothly, but things did not go smoothly when one left them alone. He was accountable to Wolf and the owners of the ship, and began to see his duties might clash. Walking up and down the boat-deck, he frowned when he heard the clink of glasses and Don Erminio's laugh. Then Macallister began to sing, and Kit went off impatiently to his room.
At daybreak they hove anchor and steamed South along the coast, until one morning a dark line on the port bow indicated land. Then they turned a quarter circle, the line got faint, as if it ran back to the East, and after they took soundings Mossamedes steamed into a wide, shallow bay. Some time after she brought up a plume of smoke blew across the sandhills, a boat was swung out and Kit and the interpreter went ashore. Nothing romantic marked the landing of the cartridges. A few big, dark-skinned men came down the beach, took the boxes from the sailors and vanished in the sand. The boat pulled off and Kit began to think smuggling in Africa was strangely flat.
Then Mossamedes, stopping now and then to use the lead, steamed North dead-slow. They saw no ships, although at times a trail of smoke stained the blue horizon. Liners bound for Cape Town kept deep water, and the captains of the Guinea boats hauled off until they made Cape Verde. The stream of traffic flowed along, but did not touch the forbidding coast.
At length Don Erminio headed cautiously for the beach and Mossamedes dropped anchor in the pool among the sands. For two or three days the captain and Kit went fishing and then, when the smoke signal wavered about the mouth of the wady, Kit went ashore with Miguel in the big cargo launch. In a sense, perhaps, the job was not his, but he felt his responsibility. The camels were his employer's, and he must see them got on board.
The morning was hot, the sea luminous green, streaked by dazzling lines of foam. Sandhills and stony hummocks floated like a mirage in quivering, reflected light. Farther off, dust storms tossed in spirals and dissolved. Now and then the wind got light for a few minutes and Kit felt he could not breathe, but there was no break in the steady beat of the white surge on the beach.
When the rollers began to curl Miguel threw out an anchor, and the boat drove in stern-foremost until the rope brought her up. This was possible because the headland broke the sea, but Kit thought the launch would soon be swamped if the wind backed farther North. The interpreter jumped overboard, and by and by men in fluttering blue and white clothes drove the camels from the wady. When the animals reached the beach all the crew but Miguel went overboard, and the hardest work Kit had known began. The camels knelt while the head-ropes were fixed, but some stretched their long necks and tried to seize his arm with their yellow teeth. They grunted and made savage noises, and when they were driven to the water obstinately stopped.
The single-humped camel can swim, but will not, unless it is forced, and to break the big animal's firm resolve is not easy. Moreover, the launch leaped and plunged and must be hauled off when a large roller came in like a glittering wall. Spray blew about; sometimes the men were knee-deep, and sometimes buried to the shoulders, in angry foam. Now and then Kit was knocked down and washed up the beach among the legs of a floundering camel. In the background, the group of Moors sat on the beach and watched; their dark skins and harshly-coloured clothes distinct in the strong light.
When Miguel was satisfied he could take no more, they hauled off the boat and tied the camels by the short head-ropes along her gunwale. Then the anchor was got up and they began to row, but although they pulled the long oars double-banked, did not make much progress. It looked as if the camels, supported by their halters, were satisfied to be towed. The animals floated awkwardly and their bodies were a heavy drag.
To drive the boat ahead was exhausting labour in the burning sun, and by and by Kit relieved a man whose efforts got slack. His clothes had dried stiff, his hair was full of sand, and the salt had crystallised on his burned skin. At length they stopped abreast of the steamer's gangway and somebody threw a rope. Mossamedes rolled, lifting a long belt of rusty side out of the foam. Sometimes she was high above the boat, and sometimes she sank until the water splashed about the open iron doors. A man, seizing a boathook, stood ready to fend-off the launch; the others got canvas bands under the camels. Then a long derrick swung out and a band was hooked to a wire rope.
"Ahora! Llevadlo!" shouted Miguel and a winch began to rattle.
The rope tightened with a jerk, a camel rose from the water, and for a few moments swung wildly to and fro. The animal looked ridiculous, with its outstretched neck and paddling legs. Then Mossamedes steadied and one heard running wire; the camel sank and vanished and the rope came down again. When all were on board, Miguel started for the beach with a fresh crew, and Kit went to see the animals fastened up and fed. The mate was accountable for their stowing, but camels were worth much at Grand Canary, and Kit imagined his employer's interest was his. Sometimes when he thought about his efforts afterwards, he smiled.
He was occupied until the launch returned and he went ashore again. The tide had risen and the surf was worse, but they got another load. The launch came back half-swamped with the men exhausted and a broken oar, and on her next voyage the crew kept her off the beach until the tide fell. While she rolled and plunged at anchor Kit lay in her bottom and watched the angry combers crash upon the beach.
They brought off the last few animals in the dark and Kit washed away the sand and salt. Three or four dark bruises marked his skin, his hands were blistered and he limped because a camel had stepped upon his foot. All the same, when he put on soft clean clothes he was satisfied. Mossamedes would go to sea at daybreak and it was something to know the job was done.