The Coast of Adventure

by Harold Bindloss

  CHAPTER VII

  MANGROVE CREEK

  There was not a ripple on the sea when the _Enchantress_, steamingslowly, closed with the coast. The glittering water broke with a drowsymurmur at her bows and turned from silver to a deep blue in the shadowof the hull; her wake was marked by silky whirls on the back of theswell. It was four o'clock in the afternoon, the sea flung back adazzling light, and Grahame's eyes ached as he searched the approachingland with his glasses.

  Far back, blue mountains loomed through haze and the foreground wasblurred and dim. One could not tell where the low expanse began orended, though a broad, dark fringe, which Grahame knew was forest,conveyed some idea of distance. In one or two spots, a streak of whiteindicated surf upon a point, but the picture was flooded with a glare inwhich separate objects lost distinctness. Blue and gray and silvermelted into one another without form or salient line.

  Grahame put down the glasses and turned to the seaman near him. Miguelwas getting old, but his tall figure was strong, and he stood, finelyposed, with a brown hand on the wheel. His face was rugged, but he hadclear, blue eyes that met one with a curious child-like gaze. He wasbarefooted and his thin cotton trousers and canvas jacket werespotlessly clean, though Grahame imagined he had made the latter out ofa piece of old awning they had meant to throw away.

  "You come from the Canaries, don't you, Miguel?" Grahame asked inCastilian. "It is not so hot there."

  "From San Sebastian, senor, where the trade-breeze blows and thedate-palms grow. My house stands among the tuna-figs beside themule-track to the mountains."

  "Then you have a house? Who takes care of it while you are away?"

  "My senora. She packs the tomatoes they send to England. It is hard workand one earns a peseta a day."

  "Then why did you leave her?" Grahame asked, for he knew that a peseta,which is equal to about twenty cents, will not buy much of the coarsemaize-flour the Canary peasants live upon.

  "There came a great tempest, and when my three boats were wreckedsomething must be done. My sons were drawn for the navy; they had nomoney to send. For years, senor, I was captain of a schooner fishing_bacalao_ on the African coast, and when I came home to catch tunny forthe Italian factory things went very well. Then the gale swept down fromthe peaks one night and in the morning the boats were matchwood on thereef."

  "Ah!" said Grahame. He could sympathize, for he too had faced what atthe time had seemed to be overwhelming disaster. "So you sailed to lookfor better fortune somewhere else? You hope to go back to San Sebastiansome day?"

  "If my saint is kind. But perhaps it is well that he is a very greatangel, for fortune is not always found when one looks for it at sea."

  There was no irony in Miguel's answer; his manner was quietly dignified.Indeed, though he had been taught nothing except rudimentary seamanship,he had the bearing of a fine gentleman.

  "Wages are good in English and American ships," Grahame resumed, feelingthat he was guilty of impertinence. "Sometimes you are able to send thesenora a few dollars?"

  "I send all but a little to buy clothes when I go where it is cold, andmy senora buries the money to buy another boat if it is permitted that Ireturn. Once or twice a year comes a letter, written by the priest, andI keep it until I find a man who can read it to me."

  Grahame was touched. There was something pathetic in the thought of thisuntaught exile's patiently carrying the precious letters until he metsomebody who could read his language.

  "Well," he said, "if things go well with us, you will get a bonusbesides your wages, which should make it easier for you to go home. Butyou understand there is danger in what we may have to do."

  Miguel smiled.

  "Senor, there is always danger on the sea."

  Grahame turned and saw Walthew standing in the engine-room door. He woredirty overalls and a singlet torn open at the neck, there was a smear ofoil across his face, and his hands were black and scarred.

  "What on earth have you been doing?" Grahame asked.

  "Lying on my back for two hours, trying to put a new packing in thegland of a pump."

  "Well, who would have predicted a year ago that you would be amusingyourself this way now!"

  Walthew laughed.

  "Do you know where we are?" he asked.

  "I imagine we're not far off the creek; in fact, we might risk makingthe signal smoke. It will be dark enough to head inshore in a fewhours."

  "Then we'll get to work with the fires," said Walthew, promptlydisappearing below.

  Soon afterward, a dense black cloud rose from the funnel and, trailingaway behind the _Enchantress_, spread across the sky. Grahame knew thatit might be seen by unfriendly watchers, but other steamers sometimespassed the point for which he was steering. After a while he signaledfor less steam, and only a faint, widening ripple marked the_Enchantress's_ passage through the water as she closed obliquely withthe land. It was still blurred, and in an hour Grahame stopped theengines and took a cast of the lead. Dark would come before long, when,if they had reached the right spot, signals would be made. In themeanwhile it would be imprudent to venture nearer.

  Walthew and one of the seamen set out a meal on deck and when it waseaten they lounged on the stern grating, smoking and waiting. There wasdangerous work before them; and, to make things worse, it must be donein the dark, because the moon now shone in the daytime. It was very hot,and a steamy, spicy smell drifted off the coast, which grew lessdistinct as the darkness settled down. A faint rumble of surf reachedthem from an unseen beach, rising and falling with a rhythm in it. Theblack smoke had been stopped and thin gray vapor rose straight up fromthe funnel. The quietness and the suspense began to react upon the men'snerves; they felt impatient and highly strung, but they talked ascarelessly as they could.

  Then in the quietness the roar of the sea on sandy shoals reached themominously clear. Grahame glanced shoreward, but could see nothing, forthe sun had gone and a thin mist was spreading across the low littoral.

  "We're drifting inshore," he said. "As soon as I get four fathoms we'llsteam out. Try a cast of the lead."

  Walthew swung the plummet and they heard it strike the sea.

  "Half a fathom to the good," he called as he coiled up the wet line.Then he stopped, looking toward the land. "What's that?" he said."Yonder, abreast of the mast?"

  A twinkling light appeared in the mist and grew brighter.

  "A fire, I think," Grahame answered quietly. "Still, one's not enough."

  A second light began to glimmer, and soon another farther on.

  Macallister chuckled.

  "Ye're a navigator. Our friends are ready. I've seen many a worselandfall made by highly-trained gentlemen with a big mail company'sbuttons."

  "A lucky shot; but you had better stand by below. Start her easy."

  He blew three blasts on the whistle, and the fires went out while the_Enchantress_ moved slowly shoreward through the gloom. Miguel held thewheel and Grahame stood near by, watching the half-breed who swung thelead. Presently another light twinkled, and, listening hard, Grahameheard the splash of paddles. Stopping the engines, he waited until alow, gray object crept out of the mist and slid toward the steamer'sside. Ropes were thrown and when the canoe was made fast the first ofthe men who came up ceremoniously saluted Grahame.

  "You bring the goods all right?" he asked.

  "They're ready. If it makes no difference, I'd rather wait untilto-morrow before delivering them. I understand the beach is mostlymangrove swamp, and it's a dark night to take the steamer up the creek."

  "To-morrow she be seen; the coast is watch by spy," said the other inhis quaint English; then indicated his companion. "Dese man he takes heranywhere."

  Grahame hesitated.

  Secrecy was essential, and if he waited for daylight and was seen bywatchers who had noticed the smoke in the afternoon he might not have anopportunity for landing another cargo. For all that, knowing nothingabout his pilot's skill, he imagined he ran some risk of grounding if hetook the ste
amer in. Risks, however, could not be avoided.

  "Very well," he decided. "Send him to the wheel."

  He kept the lead going as the _Enchantress_ crept forward, and wasrelieved to find that the water got no shallower. It looked as if thepilot were following a channel, for the wash of the sea on hidden shoalsbegan to rise from both sides. Except for this and the measured throb ofthe engines, there was deep silence, but after a while the vessel, whichhad been rolling gently, grew steady, and Grahame thought he could hearthe water she threw off splash upon a beach. He looked about eagerly,but there was nothing to be seen. This creeping past invisible dangerswas daunting, but he felt comforted as he glanced at the motionless,dark figure at the helm. The fellow showed no hesitation; it was obviousthat he knew his business.

  Through the darkness low trees loomed up ahead, and shortly afterwardanother clump abeam. Mist clung about them, there was not much spacebetween, and the absence of any gurgle at the bows indicated that the_Enchantress_ was steaming up the inlet with the tide. The lead showedsufficient water, but Grahame had misgivings, for the creek seemed to begetting narrower. It was, however, too late to turn back; he must go onand trust to luck.

  Some time later a light appeared among the trees, and the pilot orderedthe engines to be stopped. Then he pulled the helm over and waved hishand as the _Enchantress_ swung inshore.

  "_La ancla!_" he cried. "Let her go!"

  There was a splash and a sharp rattle of chain, and when the_Enchantress_ stopped the beat of paddles came out of the gloom. Thenthe cargo-lamp was lighted and in a few minutes a group of men climbedon board. Some were dusky half-breeds, but two or three seemed to be ofpure Spanish extraction. Grahame took these below, where they carefullyexamined the cases. When they were satisfied they followed him to thedeck-cabin, and Walthew brought them some wine. One man gave Grahame acheck on an American bank, and shortly afterward the work of getting upthe cargo began.

  Everybody became suddenly busy. Shadowy figures dragged the cases aboutthe shallow hold and fixed the slings. Dark-skinned men, dripping withperspiration, slackened guys and swung the derrick-boom while canoescrept into the light of the cargo-lamp and vanished, loaded, into thedark. The stir lasted for some time, and then, after the cases had allbeen hoisted over the side, the white men among the shore party shookhands with their hosts.

  "It is all right," said the spokesman. "We are ready for the next lotwhen you get back."

  "I suppose your man will be here in the morning to take us out?" Grahameasked, because he had been told that it was too late to leave the creekthat tide.

  "If nothing is happen, he certainly come."

  The visitors got on board their canoe, and it slid off into the mist.When the splash of paddles died away, an oppressive silence settled downon the vessel, and the darkness seemed very thick, for the bigcargo-lamp had been put out. After the keen activity a reaction had setin: the men were tired and felt the heat.

  "It's lonesome," Macallister remarked, and sniffed disgustedly. "Like ahothouse in a botanic garden when they've full steam on, with a dash o'Glasgow sewer thrown in. In fact, ye might call the atmosphere a wee bithigh."

  "I don't suppose you found it very fresh in West Africa," Walthewreplied.

  "I did not. That's maybe the reason the ague grips me noo and then.Ye'll learn something about handling engines when it takes me bad. Thisis a verra insidious smell."

  "The mosquitos are worse," Grahame said. "I wonder whether there aremany of them about? Anyway, I'd like a warp taken out and made fast tothe trees. There's not much room to swing, and though the floodgenerally runs harder than the ebb in these places, one can't count onthat."

  Walthew got into the boat with Miguel and one of the crew, and came backhalf an hour later, smeared with mire and wet to the waist.

  "We've made the rope fast, but this creek has no beach," he said. "Thetrees grow out of the water, and you slip off their roots into holesfilled with slime. Couldn't feel any bottom in one or two, and I wasmighty glad I caught a branch. In fact, we've had a rather harrowingexperience."

  "Get your wet clothes off and take some quinine before you go to sleep,"Grahame advised; and when Walthew left him he watched the men heave thewarp tight.

  Soon afterward the crew went below, except for one who keptanchor-watch. The ebb tide was running strong, and Grahame was not quitesatisfied about the way the vessel was moored. It was, however,impossible to make her more secure in the dark, and, getting sleepypresently, he left his seat on the stern grating and went to his berth.