The Adventures of Captain Horn

by Frank Richard Stockton

  CHAPTER XXXV

  THE CAPTAIN WRITES A LETTER

  On the afternoon of the next day, the Miranda, having taken in water, setsail, and began her long voyage to Rio Janeiro, and thence to France.

  Now that his labors were over, and the treasure of the Incas safelystored in the hold of the brig, where it was ignominiously acting asballast, Captain Horn seated himself comfortably in the shade of a sailand lighted his pipe. He was tired of working, tired of thinking, tiredof planning--tired in mind, body, and even soul; and the thought thathis work was done, and that he was actually sailing away with his greatprize, came to him like a breeze from the sea after a burning day. Hewas not as happy as he should have been. He knew that he was too tiredto be as happy as his circumstances demanded, but after a while he wouldattend better to that business. Now he was content to smoke his pipe,and wait, and listen to the distant music from all the different kindsof enjoyment which, in thought, were marching toward him. It was true hewas only beginning his long voyage to the land where he hoped to turnhis gold into available property. It was true that he might be murderedthat night, or some other night, and that when the brig, with itsgolden cargo, reached port, he might not be in command of her. It wastrue that a hundred things might happen to prevent the advancingenjoyments from ever reaching him. But ill-omened chances threateneverything that man is doing, or ever can do, and he would not let thethought of them disturb him now.

  Everybody on board the Miranda was glad to rest and be happy, accordingto his methods and his powers of anticipation. As to any presentadvantage from their success, there was none. The stones and sand theyhad thrown out had ballasted the brig quite as well as did the gold theynow carried. This trite reflection forced itself upon the mind of Burke.

  "Captain," said he, "don't you think it would be a good idea to touchsomewhere and lay in a store of fancy groceries and saloon-cabin grog? Ifwe can afford to be as jolly as we please, I don't see why we shouldn'tbegin now."

  But the captain shook his head. "It would be a dangerous thing," he said,"to put into any port on the west coast of South America with our presentcargo on board. We can't make it look like ballast, as I expected wecould, for all that bagging gives it a big bulk, and if the custom-houseofficers came on board, it would not do any good to tell them we aresailing in ballast, if they happened to want to look below."

  "Well, that may be so," said Burke. "But what I'd like would be to meet afirst-class, double-quick steamer, and buy her, put our treasure onboard, and then clap on all steam for France."

  "All right," said the captain, "but we'll talk about that when we meet asteamer for sale."

  After a week had passed, and he had begun to feel the advantages of restand relief from anxiety, Captain Horn regretted nothing so much as thatthe _Miranda_ was not a steamer, ploughing her swift way over the seas.It must be a long, long time before he could reach those whom he supposedand hoped were waiting for him in France. It had already been a long,long time since they had heard from him. He did not fear that they wouldsuffer because he did not come. He had left them money enough to preventanything of that sort. He did not know whether or not they were longingto hear from him, but he did know that he wanted them to hear from him.He must yet sail about three thousand miles in the Pacific Ocean, andthen about two thousand more in the Atlantic, before he reached RioJaneiro, the port for which he had cleared. From there it would be nearlyfive thousand miles to France, and he did not dare to calculate how longit would take the brig to reach her final destination.

  This course of thought determined him to send a letter, which would reachParis long before he could arrive there. If they should know that he wason his way home, all might be well, or, at least, better than if theyknew nothing about him. It might be a hazardous thing to touch at a porton this coast, but he believed that, if he managed matters properly, hemight get a letter ashore without making it necessary for any meddlesomecustom-house officers to come aboard and ask questions. Accordingly, hedecided to stop at Valparaiso. He thought it likely that if he did notmeet a vessel going into port which would lay to and take his letter, hemight find some merchantman, anchored in the roadstead, to which hecould send a boat, and on which he was sure to find some one who wouldwillingly post his letter.

  He wrote a long letter to Edna--a straightforward, business-likemissive, as his letters had always been, in which, in language which shecould understand, but would carry no intelligible idea to anyunauthorized person who might open the letter, he gave her an account ofwhat he had done, and which was calculated to relieve all apprehensions,should it be yet a long time before he reached her. He promised to writeagain whenever there was an opportunity of sending her a letter, andwrote in such a friendly and encouraging manner that he felt sure therewould be no reason for any disappointment or anxiety regarding him andthe treasure.

  Burke and Shirley were a little surprised when they found that thecaptain had determined to stop at Valparaiso, a plan so decidedly opposedto what he had before said on the subject. But when they found it was forthe purpose of sending a letter to his wife, and that he intended, ifpossible, barely to touch and go, they said nothing more, nor did Burkemake any further allusions to improvement in their store of provisions.

  When, at last, the captain found himself off Valparaiso, it was on adark, cloudy evening and nothing could be done until the next morning,and they dropped anchor to wait until dawn.

  As soon as it was light, the captain saw that a British steamer wasanchored about a mile from the _Miranda_, and he immediately sent a boat,with Shirley and two of the negroes, to ask the officer on duty to posthis letter when he sent on shore. In a little more than an hour Shirleyreturned, with the report that the first mate of the steamer knew CaptainHorn and would gladly take charge of his letter.

  The boat was quickly hauled to the davits, and all hands were called toweigh anchor and set sail. But all hands did not respond to the call. Oneof the negroes, a big, good-natured fellow, who, on account of hisunpronounceable African name, had been dubbed "Inkspot," was not to befound. This was a very depressing thing, under the circumstances, and it,almost counterbalanced the pleasure the captain felt in having started aletter on its way to his party in France.

  It seemed strange that Inkspot should have deserted the vessel, for itwas a long way to the shore, and, besides, what possible reason could hehave for leaving his fellow-Africans and taking up his lot among absolutestrangers? The crew had all worked together so earnestly and faithfullythat the captain had come to believe in them and trust them to an extentto which he had never before trusted seamen.

  The officers held a consultation as to what was to be done, and they veryquickly arrived at a decision. To remain at anchor, to send a boat onshore to look for the missing negro, would be dangerous and useless.Inquiries about the deserter would provoke inquiries about the brig, andif Inkspot really wished to run away from the vessel, it would take along time to find him and bring him back. The right course was quiteplain to every one. Having finished the business which brought themthere, they must up anchor and sail away as soon as possible. As for theloss of the man, they must bear that as well as they could. Whether hehad been drowned, eaten by a shark, or had safely reached the shore, hewas certainly lost to them.

  At the best, their crew had been small enough, but six men had sailed abrig, and six men could do it again.

  So the anchor was weighed, the sails were set, and before a northeastwind the _Miranda_ went out to sea as gayly as the nature of her buildpermitted, which is not saying much. It was a good wind, however, andwhen the log had been thrown, the captain remarked that the brig wasmaking better time than she had made since they left Acapulco.