McRafferty went below, seeming pleased to have won his point; but Halfhyde sensed trouble ahead. A man facing hanging for murder was a nasty kind of cargo, one that brought a disagreeable spirit to the ship, a kind of portent of disaster.
Ten minutes later McRafferty’s voice came up through the skylight. “Mr Halfhyde, a word with you in the saloon.”
Chapter 5
IN HIS years in the naval service, Halfhyde had seen few harbours as bleak as that of Iquique and what it must look like in foul weather was best left to the imagination. Even today it was uninviting, a nasty little port on the fringe of the Atacama Desert, with the Western Cordillera of the Andes mountains rearing distantly behind. Among other things, the town was liable to devastation by earthquake. Yet Iquique was an important place on the seafarer’s map and the anchorage was crowded with shipping, both sail and steam, though sail predominated. Halfhyde had looked from the poop at the ensigns of many nations besides Britain: there were German ships, Scandinavians, American, French, Portuguese and Spanish.
He found no enthusiasm for setting foot ashore; but the shore was where he was being sent. McRafferty said, “You told me in Liverpool that you had been to Chile before, and that you have some Spanish.”
“A little Spanish, yes. I’ve never been to Iquique. Only in Valparaiso and Puerto Montt. And once only.”
“No matter, you have some acquaintance with the country, Mr Halfhyde.” McRafferty pulled at his side whiskers. “I have a mission for you, one that is not to be mentioned outside this saloon—that is, so far as the ship’s crew is concerned.”
Halfhyde lifted an eyebrow. “Mr Bullock, sir?”
“Precisely.”
“Mr Bullock is already ashore. Iquique’s a small enough place by the look of it. Suppose I meet him?”
McRafferty answered impatiently, “Iquique is not as small as all that. Bullock has gone with my agent to the offices of the Nitrate Combination to make arrangements in regard to my cargo. If you should happen to meet him in the port area, you shall say simply that I have allowed you shore leave so that you may see a port that is new to you.”
“And the real reason for my run ashore, sir? Is it to do with your passenger?”
McRafferty nodded. “I wish to learn more about him, Mr Halfhyde. The only possible source of information is, I believe, a certain good friend I have in Iquique. Even he may know nothing of this man, but it’s worth a try.”
“As you say, sir. And his name?”
“The name of my friend is Aguirre Trucco. The name of my passenger…this I do not yet know.”
“Then how—”
“Señor Trucco is a knowledgeable person, Mr Halfhyde, one who keeps an ear to the ground and an eye lifting for trouble. If, for instance, there is any person in Iquique awaiting a ship so that he can escape the law, extradition perhaps, then It’s a pound to a penny Trucco will know of him. If Trucco knows nothing of any such person, then I would feel safer in bringing a passenger aboard. Do you understand?”
Halfhyde said, “I understand, sir. But if your friend does know of such a person, how will you be sure that it is your passenger? Even if you knew the name, he could be using a pseudonym—and very probably is, if he’s up against the law.”
“I realize that. But at least I shall be warned that there may he trouble.”
“You’ll still take him aboard?”
McRafferty looked away and answered obliquely. “I shall discuss the matter further with Mr Bullock.”
CROSSING THE anchorage in one of the importunate bumboats whose crew had been persuaded by a little silver to act as ferry, Halfhyde reflected that discussion with the First Mate would be likely to result in Bullock putting two and two together and guessing that there was collusion between the acting Second Mate and the Master, at any rate if Bullock should get wind, as surely he would, of Halfhyde’s visit to the shore. But that was for the future; currently Halfhyde’s thoughts had flown somewhat acidly homewards to Portsmouth: mail had awaited the Aysgarth Falls, brought ahead of her by a steamship out of the London River, and that mail, coming aboard with the agent, had contained a letter from Sir John Willard addressed to My dear Halfhyde and ending Your father-in-law, John Willard. In between, coldness could be detected. The admiral wrote that Mildred had been fretting and, upset by Halfhyde’s sudden departure across the world, was disinclined to put pen to paper herself. She believed there was a lack of love and consideration, a view apparently shared by the admiral, and also by Lady Willard who had been, very clearly, the instigator of the letter. There was an implied threat that if his absence continued beyond the normal limits of a voyage out and home, then it might be expedient for the Admiralty to be informed. If that were done, then Halfhyde would find himself out on his ear, since he had proceeded overseas without permission from their Lordships.
Halfhyde had sworn roundly and then crushed the letter in his fist. The admiral had gone on to write that Mildred proposed spending the next few weeks with cousins near Newmarket. By the letter’s date, she would most probably be there now. Halfhyde wished her joy in her surroundings.
The bumboat entered the port, and Halfhyde scrambled ashore onto the jetty, where a number of ships were loading or discharging cargo, and the air was blue with the shouts of the foremen stevedores as the crates and sacks were trundled up and down the gangways. Picking his way over the usual seaport litter, a scene not unlike that of Liverpool, Halfhyde left the dock area and walked on into the town. At this time of the day, the seamen from the ships were little in evidence; there was work to be done aboard, and the only manifestations of liberty were a number of drunks lying in the gutters or in dirty side alleys off the main thoroughfares. To Halfhyde’s eye the town was similar to Valparaiso but on a smaller scale; every other doorway seemed to lead to a brothel or drinking den, and the place appeared filled with pimps, greasy men who sidled up to Halfhyde and tried to interest him in their wares.
He pushed them aside, to be followed by imprecations as he stalked on. He had not far to go; Aguirre Trucco ran a ship chandlery close to the docks. Captain McRafferty had given him precise directions; he had no difficulty in finding the premises whilst keeping a weather eye open for any sign of Bullock, of which there was none.
Halfhyde entered; the place was not busy. The hour was as yet early for the bosuns and stewards, carpenters and sail-makers to come ashore to conduct their business. Halfhyde recognized the proprietor from McRafferty’s description: a small, bright-eyed man behind a counter, wearing a large apron that threatened to obliterate him altogether.
Trucco beamed and kneaded his hands. “Buena vista, señor,” he said.
“Good morning, Señor Trucco—”
“Engleesh?”
Halfhyde nodded and approached the counter. “English, yes. I come from a friend of yours.”
“Yes?”
“Captain McRafferty of the Aysgarth Falls.”
“Ah, so! Yes.” Trucco smiled in a friendly fashion. “An old friend, yes, whom I have served for many years. You come for provisions, yes?”
“No,” Halfhyde said. “This isn’t a business call of that nature, and I’d be obliged, and so would Captain McRafferty, if you’d not mention my call. I’m Captain McRafferty’s Second Mate, and his business is private. So—”
“Si, si. Private. Then you must come into my house. One moment, please, señor.” Trucco went through a door at the end of his counter and called. A smiling, buxom woman appeared: Señora Trucco, who would take over the store. Trucco beckoned Halfhyde to follow him, and turned back through the door. Halfhyde was led to an office, barely furnished with a desk and some shelves and a couple of chairs.
Bidden to sit, he lost no time in stating what he had come for. Trucco listened closely, nodding at intervals. Then he said, “I understand the anxieties. I also know—though this perhaps I should not say—that Señor Bullock has fingers in many pies, not all of them good ones. You will not repeat this.”
“I will not
. But may I ask how you know this, Señor Trucco?”
Trucco shrugged. “He has been sailing for many years to the Chilean coast—many times to Iquique, long before he joined Captain McRafferty. There has been talk that has reached me from time to time.”
“I see. And the passenger for the Aysgarth Falls? Do you know who he is?”
There was another shrug. “Possibly. Possibly not.”
“Which means?”
“There are always many persons seeking passages out of Iquique. Some for good reasons, some for bad. It is very easy to board a ship illegally…the port authorities are lax and only too susceptible to bribes, as perhaps you know.”
Halfhyde didn’t comment on that; he was disinclined to speak of his lack of merchant ship experience, to go into his antecedents and the many explanations that would have to follow. He said, “I’ll put my question differently. Have you any precise knowledge of any person who might embark aboard the Aysgarth Falls?”
Trucco shook his head. “I am sorry. I have not. Only in a general way…I have heard that there are persons in the town who are seeking passages without too many questions…but as I have told you, señor, that is not unusual in Iquique or indeed in Valparaiso, or Callao, or—”
“Yes, quite. These persons—do they seek passages to England, or to Australia?”
Trucco shrugged. “To many places, those included.”
“I see. You can say no more than that?”
The Chilean didn’t answer at once. He sat for a moment in thought, his face creased up like a monkey’s, then he got to his feet, went to the door, and opened it enough to take a quick look up and down the passage. Closing it, he went to the window, which he had shut on entry in spite of the increasing heat of the day, and looked out carefully. Then he sat again, drawing his chair close to Halfhyde. “One must be very circumspect, señor. My family, my business, my own life also—all could be at risk. But for Captain McRafferty I am willing to take a risk, and your face tells me that you will not cheat. It is an honest face, a man’s face—as a ship’s chandler I see all sorts and can form opinions that are seldom proved wrong.” It could have been McRafferty speaking, as he had done back in Liverpool.
Modestly, Halfhyde inclined his head, hiding the smile that was forming. He said gravely, “Thank you for your trust, Señor Trucco. I shall not betray it if you have something to tell me.”
Trucco said, “There is a person, such as you enquire about. I cannot say if he is the very one, but I have heard that he wishes to take passage to Sydney. If this is the one, I would advise Captain McRafferty to refuse him passage.”
“His name?”
“Cantlow”
“British?”
“Yes. A sergeant of dragoons, a deserter from your British Army.”
“A strange place to find such a man, señor?”
Trucco shook his head. “Not so. Men come to Iquique from many parts. This one is said to have deserted from his regiment at Cape Town, and to have sailed to Valparaiso by signing aboard a steamer that left the Cape after the, what do you say, huing and crying had died down—”
“And his reason for desertion? Is this known?”
“Not to me, señor. But I can put two and two together. When drunk here in Iquique, this man talked of having been in the vicinity of the Kimberley diamond mines, and it is said that he showed a small bag and that this bag contained diamonds.”
“So you’re suggesting he’s concerned with diamond smuggling?”
“Yes, this is likely, I think. And he is in a hurry for a passage since showing the bag.”
Halfhyde laughed. “That I can understand! His life’s in danger from thieves without a doubt. Do you know where he’s to be found, Señor Trucco?”
“No. His tracks he will have covered very well. But I would suggest that for you to look for him is unnecessary. You will warn Captain McRafferty, and he will refuse passage to this man. The rest of it need not concern you. You are not the law, señor.”
“True enough. But there are reasons why it would be better for me to find this man and establish whether or not he is the one due to come aboard the Aysgarth Falls. If he’s not, then I’d not wish to deprive Captain McRafferty of a paying passenger. If he is…well, then, perhaps I can persuade him to look for another ship, for I believe that if he were to present himself for embarkation, Mr Bullock would see to it that he was not turned away.”
“But Captain McRafferty—”
“Would suffer in the end—yes, I know, and I would wish to preserve him intact, as would any loyal officer.” Halfhyde leaned forward. “Señor Trucco, as a good friend of Captain McRafferty, I ask you for any further help you can give.”
THE CHILEAN had not been able to offer much; he genuinely did not know the current whereabouts of Sergeant Cantlow. All he could do was to give Halfhyde an address in the town where he might, just might, be able to pick up further information. The information, he said, would for a certainty be there, but the acquiring of it would not only be virtually impossible but also a task of the most extreme danger: the given address was that of a clearing house for persons wanting to get out of the country by sea and no questions asked. It was well enough known through the criminal grapevine and was also, Trucco said, known to the police; but no arrest had ever been made there. For one thing, it was too dangerous to police life, for another palm had been well greased. The clearing house was left severely alone, and if things went wrong for him, Halfhyde would find no help from the police—even if he was given time to get away before the knife went into his back. When he had seen that Halfhyde was determined to find Sergeant Cantlow, Trucco had, with obvious reluctance, passed him the means whereby he might gain admittance: he was to say he came from Red Danny’s. Red Danny was an Englishman who ran an exit agency in Valparaiso under cover of a boarding house, the sort whence unwary men were shanghaied to sea aboard the outward bounders short of a crew. It would be up to Halfhyde himself to invent a story to account for his movements as far as Red Danny’s together with a reason for wanting a passage. He would be entirely on his own; and he would need to move fast before a check was put on him with Red Danny in Valparaiso.
Halfhyde went deeper into Iquique, still watchful for Bullock, still pushing aside the pimps and prostitutes and the younger element, the small boys with sisters to sell as a form of early private enterprise. The sisters’ charms, vividly described, fell on deaf ears as Halfhyde strode along. Pulling out his watch, he found the time to be ten-thirty-five; there was no hurry. The Aysgarth Falls was not due to sail for Australia until nine o’clock that evening, after being brought alongside to load her part cargo of nitrates. It was possible the passenger intended to board disguised as a stevedore—Halfhyde had been given no information on this point by McRafferty, who very likely didn’t know himself. Bullock, who would presumably know, wasn’t giving anything away.
Meanwhile, Halfhyde was thirsty, and authenticity was all. It would do no harm to have the smell of whisky on his breath when he reached the clearing house. He entered the next drinking establishment he came to and approached the bar through thick smoke from pipes and cigars, pushing his way through a crowd of Chileans and a sprinkling of seamen, obvious as such from their clothing, nearly all of them three parts drunk. Music was being played: a guitar, and on a stage at one end of the sizeable room a woman pranced in the nude, grinning and gesticulating, doing all manner of things with an empty whisky bottle—endeavouring to pick it up with a part of her anatomy never designed for such an activity while the seamen and others roared their approval in many languages and urged her on to further demonstrations of versatility. Halfhyde, who had seen such acts before in other parts of the world, turned his back; yet smiled at the wicked thought that Mildred might well have had her mind broadened if she were present. The further image of Mildred herself performing in such a manner made him give a guffaw of laughter; which appeared to annoy a big man wearing a heavy black beard and earrings in the lobes of his ears.
“What’s the bloody joke, eh?”
“Only my thoughts, friend, only my thoughts and nothing to do with you.”
“Saucy,” the man said, sounding belligerent. “That’s what I bloody calls you, saucy. An’ I don’t like your bloody voice, so shut it.”
“Anything to oblige,” Halfhyde said mildly but with a gleam in his eye. “If you like, I’ll lick your boots. They could probably do with it.”
“Eh?”
“Never mind.”
The man was very drunk; he lurched and almost fell, then said, “That voice. It don’t fit with Iquique. Nor does your rig. Dressed like a seaman, sound like a bloody lord. What’s your game, matey? On the run—are you, eh?”
“No more than you, I dare say.”
Pig-like eyes stared at him, red-shot and bleary. There was a belch. “What you done, matey?”
“Nothing to do with you, my friend.”
“No?” A hand shot out and took him by the throat. It squeezed, but not hard, then it fell away. “Fix you up, I can…if you make it worth my while. What about that, eh?”
Halfhyde put a finger to his lips. “Not here, friend. Let’s be sensible. In any case, I’m not in need of assistance from you.” Once again the hefty hand came out and laid hold of his throat, this time squeezing hard. No one took any notice; the naked woman was now attempting to pick up a silver dollar thrown onto the stage and all attention was riveted. Savagely Halfhyde lifted a knee and jabbed vigorously in a vital place. There was an oath, and the squeezing figures came away, ready to ball into a fist, but Halfhyde grabbed the wrist before the man could strike. He decided to take a chance; it was a hundred pounds to a penny that the man was also on the run from the law. He said, “No help wanted. I’m fixed up. I come from Red Danny’s.”
“Red Danny’s, eh.” The eyes focused a little better on Halfhyde; the mention of Red Danny’s seemed to bring a touch of sobriety. “You’ll buy me a drink on that. Whisky.” The hand came down on Halfhyde’s shoulder, and he was pushed against the bar. The man shouted for whisky, and a bottle and two glasses were placed before them. Halfhyde’s new mate had also passed through Red Danny’s hands. When they’d had a skinful, he said, he would personally escort Halfhyde to the clearing house.
Halfhyde Outward Bound Page 6