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Once assured that his surf-boat would keep afloat, Blake took the oarsand began to row. But even as he swung the boat lumberingly about herealized that he could make no headway with such a load, for almost afoot of water still surged along its bottom. So he put down the oars andbegan to bale again. He did not stop until the boat was emptied. Then hecarefully replugged the bullet-hole, took up the oars again, and oncemore began to row.
He rowed, always keeping his bow towards the far-off spangle of lightswhich showed where the _Trunella_ lay at anchor.
He rowed doggedly, determinedly. He rowed until his arms were tired andhis back ached. But still he did not stop. It occurred to him, suddenly,that there might be a tide running against him, that with all his laborhe might be making no actual headway. Disturbed by this thought, he fixedhis attention on two almost convergent lights on shore, rowing withrenewed energy as he watched them. He had the satisfaction of seeingthese two lights slowly come together, and he knew he was making someprogress.
Still another thought came to him as he rowed doggedly on. And that wasthe fear that at any moment, now, the quick equatorial morning mightdawn. He had no means of judging the time. To strike a light wasimpossible, for his matches were water-soaked. Even his watch, he found,had been stopped by its bath in sea-water. But he felt that long hourshad passed since midnight, that it must be close to the break of morning.And the fear of being overtaken by daylight filled him with a new andmore frantic energy.
He rowed feverishly on, until the lights of the _Trunella_ stood highabove him and he could hear the lonely sound of her bells as the watchwas struck. Then he turned and studied the dark hull of the steamer asshe loomed up closer in front of him. He could see her only in outline,at first, picked out here and there by a light. But there seemedsomething disheartening, something intimidating, in her very quietness,something suggestive of a plague-ship deserted by crew and passengersalike. That dark and silent hull at which he stared seemed to houseuntold possibilities of evil.
Yet Blake remembered that it also housed Binhart. And with that thoughtin his mind he no longer cared to hesitate. He rowed in under the shadowycounter, bumping about the rudder-post. Then he worked his way forward,feeling quietly along her side-plates, foot by foot.
He had more than half circled the ship before he came to herlanding-ladder. The grilled platform at the bottom of this row of stepsstood nearly as high as his shoulders, as though the ladder-end had beenhauled up for the night.
Blake balanced himself on the bow of his surf-boat and tugged andstrained until he gained the ladder-bottom. He stood there, recoveringhis breath, for a moment or two, peering up towards the inhospitablesilence above him. But still he saw no sign of life. No word or challengewas flung down at him. Then, after a moment's thought, he lay flat on thegrill and deliberately pushed the surf-boat off into the darkness. Hewanted no more of it. He knew, now, there could be no going back.
He climbed cautiously up the slowly swaying steps, standing for a puzzledmoment at the top and peering about him. Then he crept along the deserteddeck, where a month of utter idleness, apparently, had left disciplinerelaxed. He shied away from the lights, here and there, that dazzled hiseyes after his long hours of darkness. With an instinct not unlike thatwhich drives the hiding wharf-rat into the deepest corner at hand, hemade his way down through the body of the ship. He shambled and skulkedhis way down, a hatless and ragged and uncouth figure, wandering on alonggloomy gangways and corridors until he found himself on the threshold ofthe engine-room itself.
He was about to back out of this entrance and strike still deeper when hefound himself confronted by an engineer smoking a short brier-root pipe.The pale blue eyes of this sandy-headed engineer were wide with wonder,startled and incredulous wonder, as they stared at the ragged figure inthe doorway.
"Where in the name o' God did _you_ come from?" demanded the man with thebrier-root pipe.
"I came out from Guayaquil," answered Blake, reaching searchingly down inhis wet pocket. "And I can't go back."
The sandy-headed man backed away.
"From the fever camps?"
Blake could afford to smile at the movement.
"Don't worry--there's no fever 'round me. _That's_ what I've beenthrough!" And he showed the bullet-holes through his tattered coat-cloth.
"How'd you get here?"
"Rowed out in a surf-boat--and I can't go back!"
The sandy-headed engineer continued to stare at the uncouth figure infront of him, to stare at it with vague and impersonal wonder. And infacing that sandy-headed stranger, Blake knew, he was facing a judgewhose decision was to be of vast moment in his future destiny, whoseword, perhaps, was to decide on the success or failure of much wanderingabout the earth.
"I can't go back!" repeated Blake, as he reached out and dropped aclutter of gold into the palm of the other man. The pale blue eyes lookedat the gold, looked out along the gangway, and then looked back at thewaiting stranger.
"That Alfaro gang after you?" he inquired.
"They're _all_ after me!" answered the swaying figure in rags. They weretalking together, by this time, almost in whispers, like twoconspirators. The young engineer seemed puzzled. But a wave of reliefswept through Blake when in the pale blue eyes he saw almost a look ofpity.
"What d' you want me to do?" he finally asked.
Blake, instead of answering that question, asked another.
"When do you move out of here?"
The engineer put the coins in his pocket.
"Before noon to-morrow, thank God! The _Yorktown_ ought to be here bymorning--she's to give us our release!"
"Then you'll sail by noon?"
"We've _got_ to! They've tied us up here over a month, without reason.They worked that old yellow-jack gag--and not a touch of fever aboard allthat time!"
A great wave of contentment surged through Blake's weary body. He put hishand up on the smaller man's shoulder.
"Then you just get me out o' sight until we're off, and I'll fix thingsso you'll never be sorry for it!"
The pale-eyed engineer studied the problem. Then he studied the figure infront of him.
"There's nothing crooked behind this?"
Blake forced a laugh from his weary lungs. "I'll prove that in two daysby wireless--and pay first-class passage to the next port of call!"
"I'm fourth engineer on board here, and the Old Man would sure fire me,if--"
"But you needn't even know about me," contended Blake. "Just let me crawlin somewhere where I can sleep!"
"You need it, all right, by that face of yours!"
"I sure do," acknowledged the other as he stood awaiting his judge'sdecision.
"Then I'd better get you down to my bunk. But remember, I can only stowyou there until we get under way--perhaps not that long!"
He stepped cautiously out and looked along the gangway. "This is yourfuneral, mind, when the row comes. You've got to face that, yourself!"
"Oh, I'll face it, all right!" was Blake's calmly contented answer. "AllI want now is about nine hours' sleep!"
"Come on, then," said the fourth engineer. And Blake followed after as hestarted deeper down into the body of the ship. And already, deep belowhim, he could hear the stokers at work in their hole.
The Shadow Page 14