“What was your yacht?” Schomberg interrupted as impatiently as he dared; for this harping on nationality jarred on his already tried nerves. “What was the game?”
“You have a headpiece on you! Game! ‘Xactly. That’s what it was — the sort of silliness gentlemen will get up among themselves to play at adventure. A treasure-hunting expedition. Each of them put down so much money, you understand, to buy the schooner. Their agent in the city engaged me and the skipper. The greatest secrecy and all that. I reckon he had a twinkle in his eye all the time — and no mistake. But that wasn’t our business. Let them bust their money as they like. The pity of it was that so little of it came our way. Just fair pay and no more. And damn any pay, much or little, anyhow — that’s what I say!”
He blinked his eyes greenishly in the dim light. The heat seemed to have stilled everything in the world but his voice. He swore at large, abundantly, in snarling undertones, it was impossible to say why, then calmed down as inexplicably, and went on, as a sailor yarns.
“At first there were only nine of them adventurous sparks, then, just a day or two before the sailing date, he turned up. Heard of it somehow, somewhere — I would say from some woman, if I didn’t know him as I do. He would give any woman a ten-mile berth. He can’t stand them. Or maybe in a flash bar. Or maybe in one of them grand clubs in Pall Mall. Anyway, the agent netted him in all right — cash down, and only about four and twenty hours for him to get ready; but he didn’t miss his ship. Not he! You might have called it a pier-head jump — for a gentleman. I saw him come along. Know the West India Docks, eh?”
Schomberg did not know the West India Docks. Ricardo looked at him pensively for a while, and then continued, as if such ignorance had to be disregarded.
“Our tug was already alongside. Two loafers were carrying his dunnage behind him. I told the dockman at our moorings to keep all fast for a minute. The gangway was down already; but he made nothing of it. Up he jumps, one leap, swings his long legs over the rail, and there he is on board. They pass up his swell dunnage, and he puts his hand in his trousers pocket and throws all his small change on the wharf for them chaps to pick up. They were still promenading that wharf on all fours when we cast off. It was only then that he looked at me — quietly, you know; in a slow way. He wasn’t so thin then as he is now; but I noticed he wasn’t so young as he looked — not by a long chalk. He seemed to touch me inside somewhere. I went away pretty quick from there; I was wanted forward anyhow. I wasn’t frightened. What should I be frightened for? I only felt touched — on the very spot. But Jee-miny, if anybody had told me we should be partners before the year was out — well, I would have — ”
He swore a variety of strange oaths, some common, others quaintly horrible to Schomberg’s ears, and all mere innocent exclamations of wonder at the shifts and changes of human fortune. Schomberg moved slightly in his chair. But the admirer and partner of “plain Mr. Jones” seemed to have forgotten Schomberg’s existence for the moment. The stream of ingenuous blasphemy — some of it in bad Spanish — had run dry, and Martin Ricardo, connoisseur in gentlemen, sat dumb with a stony gaze as if still marvelling inwardly at the amazing elections, conjunctions, and associations of events which influence man’s pilgrimage on this earth.
At last Schomberg spoke tentatively:
“And so the — the gentleman, up there, talked you over into leaving a good berth?”
Ricardo started.
“Talked me over! Didn’t need to talk me over. Just beckoned to me, and that was enough. By that time we were in the Gulf of Mexico. One night we were lying at anchor, close to a dry sandbank — to this day I am not sure where it was — off the Colombian coast or thereabouts. We were to start digging the next morning, and all hands had turned in early, expecting a hard day with the shovels. Up he comes, and in his quiet, tired way of speaking — you can tell a gentleman by that as much as by anything else almost — up he comes behind me and says, just like that into my ear, in a manner: ‘Well, what do you think of our treasure hunt now?’
“I didn’t even turn my head; ‘xactly as I stood, I remained, and I spoke no louder than himself:
“‘If you want to know, sir, it’s nothing but just damned tom-foolery.’
“We had, of course, been having short talks together at one time or another during the passage. I dare say he had read me like a book. There ain’t much to me, except that I have never been tame, even when walking the pavement and cracking jokes and standing drinks to chums — ay, and to strangers, too. I would watch them lifting their elbows at my expense, or splitting their side at my fun — I can be funny when I like, you bet!”
A pause for self-complacent contemplation of his own fun and generosity checked the flow of Ricardo’s speech. Schomberg was concerned to keep within bounds the enlargement of his eyes, which he seemed to feel growing bigger in his head.
“Yes, yes,” he whispered hastily.
“I would watch them and think: ‘You boys don’t know who I am. If you did — !’ With girls, too. Once I was courting a girl. I used to kiss her behind the ear and say to myself: ‘If you only knew who’s kissing you, my dear, you would scream and bolt!’ Ha! ha! Not that I wanted to do them any harm; but I felt the power in myself. Now, here we sit, friendly like, and that’s all right. You aren’t in my way. But I am not friendly to you. I just don’t care. Some men do say that; but I really don’t. You are no more to me one way or another than that fly there. Just so. I’d squash you or leave you alone. I don’t care what I do.”
If real force of character consists in overcoming our sudden weaknesses, Schomberg displayed plenty of that quality. At the mention of the fly, he re-enforced the severe dignity of his attitude as one inflates a collapsing toy balloon with a great effort of breath. The easy-going, relaxed attitude of Ricardo was really appalling.
“That’s so,” he went on. “I am that sort of fellow. You wouldn’t think it, would you? No. You have to be told. So I am telling you, and I dare say you only half believe it. But you can’t say to yourself that I am drunk, stare at me as you may. I haven’t had anything stronger than a glass of iced water all day. Takes a real gentleman to see through a fellow. Oh, yes — he spotted me. I told you we had a few talks at sea about one thing or another. And I used to watch him down the skylight, playing cards in the cuddy with the others. They had to pass the time away somehow. By the same token he caught me at it once, and it was then that I told him I was fond of cards — and generally lucky in gambling, too. Yes, he had sized me up. Why not? A gentleman’s just like any other man — and something more.”
It flashed through Schomberg’s mind: that these two were indeed well matched in their enormous dissimilarity, identical souls in different disguises.
“Says he to me” — Ricardo started again in a gossiping manner — ’I’m packed up. It’s about time to go, Martin.’
“It was the first time he called me Martin. Says I:
“‘Is that it, sir?’
“‘You didn’t think I was after that sort of treasure, did you? I wanted to clear out from home quietly. It’s a pretty expensive way of getting a passage across, but it has served my turn.’
“I let him know very soon that I was game for anything, from pitch and toss to wilful murder, in his company.
“‘Wilful murder?’ says he in his quiet way. ‘What the deuce is that? What are you talking about? People do get killed sometimes when they get in one’s way, but that’s self-defence — you understand?’
“I told him I did. And then I said I would run below for a minute, to ram a few of my things into a sailor’s bag I had. I’ve never cared for a lot of dunnage; I believed in going about flying light when I was at sea. I came back and found him strolling up and down the deck, as if he were taking a breath of fresh air before turning in, like any other evening.
“‘Ready?’
“‘Yes, sir.’
“He didn’t even look at me. We had had a boat in the water astern ever since we came to anchor in the
afternoon. He throws the stump of his cigar overboard.
“‘Can you get the captain out on deck?’ he asks.
“That was the last thing in the world I should have thought of doing. I lost my tongue for a moment.
“‘I can try,’ says I.
“‘Well, then, I am going below. You get him up and keep him with you till I come back on deck. Mind! Don’t let him go below till I return.’
“I could not help asking why he told me to rouse a sleeping man, when we wanted everybody on board to sleep sweetly till we got clear of the schooner. He laughs a little and says that I didn’t see all the bearings of this business.
“‘Mind,’ he says, ‘don’t let him leave you till you see me come up again.’ He puts his eyes close to mine. ‘Keep him with you at all costs.’
“‘And that means?’ says I.
“‘All costs to him — by every possible or impossible means. I don’t want to be interrupted in my business down below. He would give me lots of trouble. I take you with me to save myself trouble in various circumstances; and you’ve got to enter on your work right away.’
“‘Just so, sir,’ says I; and he slips down the companion.
“With a gentleman you know at once where you are; but it was a ticklish job. The skipper was nothing to me one way or another, any more than you are at this moment, Mr. Schomberg. You may light your cigar or blow your brains out this minute, and I don’t care a hang which you do, both or neither. To bring the skipper up was easy enough. I had only to stamp on the deck a few times over his head. I stamped hard. But how to keep him up when he got there?
“‘Anything the matter; Mr. Ricardo?’ I heard his voice behind me.
“There he was, and I hadn’t thought of anything to say to him; so I didn’t turn round. The moonlight was brighter than many a day I could remember in the North Sea.
“‘Why did you call me? What are you staring at out there, Mr. Ricardo?’
“He was deceived by my keeping my back to him. I wasn’t staring at anything, but his mistake gave me a notion.
“‘I am staring at something that looks like a canoe over there,’ I said very slowly.
“The skipper got concerned at once. It wasn’t any danger from the inhabitants, whoever they were.
“‘Oh, hang it!’ says he. ‘That’s very unfortunate.’ He had hoped that the schooner being on the coast would not get known so very soon. ‘Dashed awkward, with the business we’ve got in hand, to have a lot of niggers watching operations. But are you certain this is a canoe?’
“‘It may be a drift-log,’ I said; ‘but I thought you had better have a look with your own eyes. You may make it out better than I can.’
“His eyes weren’t anything as good as mine. But he says:
“‘Certainly. Certainly. You did quite right.’
“And it’s a fact I had seen some drift-logs at sunset. I saw what they were then and didn’t trouble my head about them, forgot all about it till that very moment. Nothing strange in seeing drift-logs off a coast like that; and I’m hanged if the skipper didn’t make one out in the wake of the moon. Strange what a little thing a man’s life hangs on sometimes — a single word! Here you are, sitting unsuspicious before me, and you may let out something unbeknown to you that would settle your hash. Not that I have any ill-feeling. I have no feelings. If the skipper had said, ‘O, bosh!’ and had turned his back on me, he would not have gone three steps towards his bed; but he stood there and stared. And now the job was to get him off the deck when he was no longer wanted there.
“‘We are just trying to make out if that object there is a canoe or a log,’ says he to Mr. Jones.
“Mr Jones had come up, lounging as carelessly as when he went below. While the skipper was jawing about boats and drifting logs. I asked by signs, from behind, if I hadn’t better knock him on the head and drop him quietly overboard. The night was slipping by, and we had to go. It couldn’t be put off till next night no more. No. No more. And do you know why?”
Schomberg made a slight negative sign with his head. This direct appeal annoyed him, jarred on the induced quietude of a great talker forced into the part of a listener and sunk in it as a man sinks into slumber. Mr. Ricardo struck a note of scorn.
“Don’t know why? Can’t you guess? No? Because the boss had got hold of the skipper’s cash-box by then. See?”
CHAPTER SEVEN
“A common thief!”
Schomberg bit his tongue just too late, and woke up completely as he saw Ricardo retract his lips in a cat-like grin; but the companion of “plain Mr. Jones” didn’t alter his comfortable, gossiping attitude.
“Garn! What if he did want to see his money back, like any tame shopkeeper, hash-seller, gin-slinger, or ink-spewer does? Fancy a mud turtle like you trying to pass an opinion on a gentleman! A gentleman isn’t to be sized up so easily. Even I ain’t up to it sometimes. For instance, that night, all he did was to waggle his finger at me. The skipper stops his silly chatter, surprised.
“‘Eh? What’s the matter?’ asks he.
“The matter! It was his reprieve — that’s what was the matter.
“‘O, nothing, nothing,’ says my gentleman. ‘You are perfectly right. A log — nothing but a log.’
“Ha, ha! Reprieve, I call it, because if the skipper had gone on with his silly argument much longer he would have had to be knocked out of the way. I could hardly hold myself in on account of the precious minutes. However, his guardian angel put it into his head to shut up and go back to his bed. I was ramping mad about the lost time.”
“‘Why didn’t you let me give him one on his silly coconut sir?’ I asks.
“‘No ferocity, no ferocity,’ he says, raising his finger at me as calm as you please.
“You can’t tell how a gentleman takes that sort of thing. They don’t lose their temper. It’s bad form. You’ll never see him lose his temper — not for anybody to see anyhow. Ferocity ain’t good form, either — that much I’ve learned by this time, and more, too. I’ve had that schooling that you couldn’t tell by my face if I meant to rip you up the next minute — as of course I could do in less than a jiffy. I have a knife up the leg of my trousers.”
“You haven’t!” exclaimed Schomberg incredulously.
Mr Ricardo was as quick as lightning in changing his lounging, idle attitude for a stooping position, and exhibiting the weapon with one jerk at the left leg of his trousers. Schomberg had just a view of it, strapped to a very hairy limb, when Mr. Ricardo, jumping up, stamped his foot to get the trouser-leg down, and resumed his careless pose with one elbow on the table.
“It’s a more handy way to carry a tool than you would think,” he went on, gazing abstractedly into Schomberg’s wide-open eyes. “Suppose some little difference comes up during a game. Well, you stoop to pick up a dropped card, and when you come up — there you are ready to strike, or with the thing up you sleeve ready to throw. Or you just dodge under the table when there’s some shooting coming. You wouldn’t believe the damage a fellow with a knife under the table can do to ill-conditioned skunks that want to raise trouble, before they begin to understand what the screaming’s about, and make a bolt — those that can, that is.”
The roses of Schomberg’s cheek at the root of his chestnut beard faded perceptibly. Ricardo chuckled faintly.
“But no ferocity — no ferocity! A gentleman knows. What’s the good of getting yourself into a state? And no shirking necessity, either. No gentleman ever shirks. What I learn I don’t forget. Why! We gambled on the plains, with a damn lot of cattlemen in ranches; played fair, mind — and then had to fight for our winnings afterwards as often as not. We’ve gambled on the hills and in the valleys and on the sea-shore, and out of sight of land — mostly fair. Generally it’s good enough. We began in Nicaragua first, after we left that schooner and her fool errand. There were one hundred and twenty-seven sovereigns and some Mexican dollars in that skipper’s cash-box. Hardly enough to knock a man on the head for fr
om behind, I must confess; but that the skipper had a narrow escape the governor himself could not deny afterwards.
“‘Do you want me to understand, sir, that you mind there being one life more or less on this earth?’ I asked him, a few hours after we got away.
“‘Certainly not,’ says he.
“‘Well, then, why did you stop me?’
“‘There’s a proper way of doing things. You’ll have to learn to be correct. There’s also unnecessary exertion. That must be avoided, too — if only for the look of the thing.’ A gentleman’s way of putting things to you — and no mistake!
“At sunrise we got into a creek, to lie hidden in case the treasure hunt party had a mind to take a spell hunting for us. And dash me if they didn’t! We saw the schooner away out, running to leeward, with ten pairs of binoculars sweeping the sea, no doubt on all sides. I advised the governor to give her time to beat back again before we made a start. So we stayed up that creek something like ten days, as snug as can be. On the seventh day we had to kill a man, though — the brother of this Pedro here. They were alligator-hunters, right enough. We got our lodgings in their hut. Neither the boss nor I could habla Espanol — speak Spanish, you know — much then. Dry bank, nice shade, jolly hammocks, fresh fish, good game, everything lovely. The governor chucked them a few dollars to begin with; but it was like boarding with a pair of savage apes, anyhow. By and by we noticed them talking a lot together. They had twigged the cash-box, and the leather portmanteaus, and my bag — a jolly lot of plunder to look at. They must have been saying to each other:
“‘No one’s ever likely to come looking for these two fellows, who seem to have fallen from the moon. Let’s cut their throats.’
“Why, of course! Clear as daylight. I didn’t need to spy one of them sharpening a devilish long knife behind some bushes, while glancing right and left with his wild eyes, to know what was in the wind. Pedro was standing by, trying the edge of another long knife. They thought we were away on our lookout at the mouth of the river, as was usual with us during the day. Not that we expected to see much of the schooner, but it was just as well to make certain, if possible; and then it was cooler out of the woods, in the breeze. Well, the governor was there right enough, lying comfortable on a rug, where he could watch the offing, but I had gone back to the hut to get a chew of tobacco out of my bag. I had not broken myself of the habit then, and I couldn’t be happy unless I had a lump as big as a baby’s fist in my cheek.”
Complete Works of Joseph Conrad (Illustrated) Page 354