Chapter Seventy Seven.
Almost a Murder
At the cliff’s base, the action, simultaneous, is even more exciting.
Having left their boat behind, with a man to take care of it, the rescuers advance towards the inner end of the cove.
At first with caution: till passing the rock-portal, they see the platform and those on it.
Then the young officers rush forward, with no fear of having to fight. Instead of armed enemies to meet them, they behold the dear ones from whom they have been so long apart. Beside them, half-a-dozen figures, more like skeletons than men – with cowed, craven faces, seeming so feeble as to have a difficulty in keeping their feet!
With swords sheathed, and pistols returned to their holsters, the English officers hasten on, the young ladies rushing out to receive them.
Soon they are together, two and two, breasts touching, and arms enfolded in mutual embrace.
For a while no words – the hearts of all too full for speech. Only ejaculations and kisses, with tears, but not of sorrow.
Then succeeds speech, necessarily brief and half-incoherent, Crozier telling Carmen that her father is still alive, and aboard the barque. He lives – he is safe! that is enough.
Then in answer to his questions, a word or two, on her fide. But without waiting to hear all, he turns abruptly upon Harry Blew, who is seen some paces off. Neither by word, nor gesture, has the sailor yet saluted him. He stands passive, a silent spectator; as Crozier supposes, the greatest criminal on earth. In quick retrospect of what has occurred, and what he has heard from Don Gregorio, how could it be otherwise?
But he will not condemn without hearing him, and stepping up to the ex-man-o’-war’s man, he demands explanation of his conduct, sternly saying:
“Now, sir, I claim an account from you. Tell your story straight, and don’t conceal aught, or prevaricate. If your treason be as black as I believe it, you deserve no mercy from me. And your only chance to obtain it, will be by telling the truth.”
While speaking, he has again drawn his sword, and stands confronting the sailor – as if a word were to be the signal for thrusting him through.
Blew is himself armed with both pistol and knife. But, so far from touching either, or making any sign of an intention to defend himself he remains cowed-like, his head drooping down to his breast.
He gives no response. His lips move not; neither his arms nor limbs. Alone, his broad chest heaves and falls, as if stirred by some terrible emotion.
His silence seems a confession of guilt!
Taking, or mistaking, it for this, Crozier cries out:
“Traitor! Confess, before I run this blade through your miserable body!”
The threat elicits an answer.
“You may kill me, if you wish, Master Edward. By rights, my life belongs to ye. But, if you take it, I’ll have the satisfaction o’ knowin’, I’ve done the best I could to prove my gratefulness for your once savin’ it.”
Long before he has finished his strange speech, the impending stroke is stayed, and the raised blade dropped point downward. For, on the hand which grasps it, a gentler one is laid, a soft voice saying: —
“Hold, Eduardo! Dios de mi alma! What would you do? You know not. This brave man – to him I owe my life – I and Iñez.”
“Yes,” adds Iñez, advancing, “more than life. ’Tis he who protected us.”
Crozier stands trembling, the sword almost shaken from his grasp. And while sheathing it, he is told how near he has been to doing that which would ever after have made him miserable.
He feels like one withheld from murder – almost parricide. For to have killed Harry Blew, would have been like killing his own father.
The exciting episode is almost instantly succeeded by another, even more stirring, and longer sustained. While Carmen is proceeding to explain her interference on behalf of Blew, she is interrupted by cries coming up from the beach. Not meaningless shouts, but words of ominous import.
“Ahoy, there! help! help!”
Coupled with them, Crozier hears his own name, then the “Help, help!” reiterated; recognising the voice of the man left in charge of the boat – Grummet.
Without hesitating an instant, he springs off toward the strand, Cadwallader and the gold-diggers following; two staying to keep guard over those of the robbers who have surrendered.
On clearing the rocky ledge, they see what is causing the coxswain to sing out in such terrified accents. Grummet is in the boat, but upon his feet, with a boat-hook in his hands, which he brandishes in a threatening manner, shouting all the while. Four men are making towards him fast as their legs can carry them. They are coming along the beach from the right side of the cove.
At a glance the English officers recognise two of them – De Lara and Calderon – sooner from their not meeting them there unexpectedly. For aware that they are on the isle, they were about to go in quest of those gentlemen, after settling other affairs.
No need to search for them now. There they are, with their confederates, rushing direct for the boat – already within pistol-shot of it.
Nor can there be any doubt about their intention to seize upon the boat and carry her off!
Chapter Seventy Eight.
The Tables nearly Turned
The sight thus unexpectedly brought before the eyes of the rescuers sends a shiver through their hearts, and draws exclamations of alarm from their lips. With quick intuition one and all comprehend the threatened danger. All at that moment remember having left only two or three men on the barque; and, should the pirates succeed in boarding, they may carry her off to sea, leaving themselves on the isle.
The prospect is appalling! But they do not dwell upon it; they have neither time, nor need. It is too clear, like a flash passing before their minds, in all its dread details! Without waiting to exchange word with one another, they rush on to arrest the threatened catastrophe, bounding over the rocks, crashing through shells and pebbles. But they are behind time, and the others will reach the boat before them!
Crozier, perceiving this, shouts to the coxswain —
“Shove off, Grummet! Into deep water with you!”
Grummet, understanding what is meant, brings the boat-hook point downward, and with a desperate effort, pushes the keel clear, sending the boat adrift.
But before he can repeat the push, pistols are fired, and, simultaneous with their reports, he is seen to sink down, and lie doubled over the thwarts.
A yell of vengeance peals from the pursuing party; and, maddened, they rush on. They will be too late! Already the pirates have reached the boat, now undefended; and all four together, swarming over the gunwale, drop down upon the thwarts, each as he does so seizing hold of an oar, and shipping it.
In agony, Crozier cries out —
“O God! are they to get away – these guilty, redhanded wretches?”
It would seem so. They have already dipped their oar-blades into the water, and commenced pulling, while they are beyond pistol-range.
Ha! something stays them! God is not for them. Their arms rise and fall, but the boat moves not! Her keel is on a coral bottom; her bilge caught upon its rough projections. Their own weight pressing down, holds her fast, and their oar-strokes are idly spent!
They had not thought of being thus stayed; though it proves the turning-point of their fate.
No use their leaping out now, to lighten the boat; no time for that, nor any chance to escape. But two alternatives stare them in the face – resistance, which means death; surrender, that seems the same.
De Lara would resist and die; so also Rocas. But the other two are against it, instinctively holding on to whatever hope of life be left them.
The craven Calderon cuts short the uncertainty by rising erect, stretching forth his arms, and crying out in a piteous appeal for mercy.
In an instant after they are surrounded, the boat grasped by the gunwale, and dragged back to the shore. Crozier with difficulty restrains the angry gold-diggers from shooting them down on the thwarts. Well for them the coxswain has not been killed, but only wounded, and in no danger of losing his life. Were it otherwise, theirs would be taken on the spot.
Assured of his safety, his rescuers pull the four wretches out of the boat; then disarming, drag them up to the platform, and bestow them in the larger cave: for a time to be their prison, though not long. For, there is a judge present, accustomed to sit upon short trials, and pass quick sentences, soon succeeded by their execution. He is the celebrated Justice Lynch.
Represented by a stalwart digger – all the others acting as Jury – the trial is speedily brought to a termination. For the four of Spanish nationality the verdict is guilty – the sentence, death– on the scaffold.
The others, less criminal, are to be carried on to Panama, and there delivered over to the Chilian consul; their crime being mutiny, with robbery, and abandonment of a Chilian vessel.
An exception is made in the case of Striker and Davis. The “Sydney Ducks” receive conditional pardon, on promise of better behaviour throughout all future time. This they obtain by the intercession of Harry Blew, in accordance with the hint he gave them while they were standing together beside the spread tarpauling.
Of the men sentenced to be hanged, one meets his fate in a different manner. The gold-dust has been recovered, packed, and put into the boat. The señoritas are cloaked, and impatient to be taken back to the barque, yearning to embrace him they have so long believed dead.
The English officers stand beside them; all awaiting the last scene of the tragedy – the execution of the condemned criminals.
The stake has been set for it; this the level plot of ground in front of the cavern’s month. A rope hangs down with a running noose at one end; the other, in default of gallow’s arm and branch of tree, rigged over the point of a projecting rock.
All this arranged, De Lara is led out first, a digger on each side of him. He is not tied, nor confined in any way. They have no fear of his making his escape.
Nor has he any thoughts of attempting it; though he thinks of something else, as desperate and deadly. He will not die like a scared dog, but as a fierce tiger; to the last thirsting for blood, to the end trying to destroy – to kill! The oath sworn by him above on the cliff, he still is determined on keeping.
As they conduct him out of the cave, his eyes glaring with lurid light, go searching everywhere, till they rest upon a group some twenty paces distant. It is composed of four persons: Crozier and Carmen, Cadwallader and Iñez, standing two and two.
At the last pair De Lara looks not, the first enchaining his attention. Only one short glance he gives them; another to a pistol which hangs holstered on the hip of a gold-digger guarding him.
A spring, and he has possession of it; a bound, and he is off from between the two men, and rushing on towards the group standing apart!
Fortunately for Edward Crozier – for Carmen Montijo as well – there are cries of alarm, shouts of warning, that reach him in time.
He turns on hearing them, sees the approaching danger, and takes measures to avert it. Simple enough these – but the drawing of his revolver, and firing at the man who advances.
Two shots are heard, one on each side, almost simultaneous; but enough apart to decide which of the two who fired must fall.
Crozier’s pistol had cracked first; and as the smokes of both swirl up, the gambler is seen astretch upon the sward – the blood spurting from his breast, and spreading over his shirt bosom!
Harry Blew, rushing forward, and bending over him, cries out:
“Dead! Shot through the heart – a brave heart too! What a pity ’twar so black!”
“Come away, mia querida!” says Crozier to Carmen. “Your father will be suffering from anxiety about you. You’ve had enough of the horrible. Let us hope this is the end of it.”
Taking his betrothed by the hand, he leads her down to the boat – Cadwallader and Iñez accompanying them.
All seat themselves in the stern-sheets, and wait for the diggers; who soon after appear, conducting their prisoners, the pirate crew of the Condor; short four left behind – a banquet for the caracaras!
Chapter Seventy Nine.
A Sailor’s True Yarn
It is the second day after the tragedy upon the isle, and the Chilian barque has sailed away from the Veraguan coast, out of that indentation known upon modern maps as “Montijo Bay.”
She has long since rounded Cabo Mala, and is standing in for the port of Panama. With a full crew – most of them old and able seamen – no fear but she will reach it now.
Crozier in command, has restored Harry Blew to his old rank of first officer; which so far from having forfeited, he is now deemed to doubly deserve. But still weak from his long privation, the ex-man-o’-war’s man is excused from duty, Cadwallader doing it for him.
Harry is strong enough, however, to tell the young officers what they are all ears to hear – the story of that Flag of Distress. Their time hitherto taken up attending upon their fiancées, they have deferred calling for the full account, which only the English sailor can give them.
Now having passed Cabo Mala, as if with that promontory of bad repute all evil were left behind, they are in the mood to listen to the narration in all its details; and for this have summoned the chief officer to their side.
“Your honours!” he begins, “it’s a twisted-up yarn, from the start to the hour ye hove in sight; an’ if ye hadn’t showed yerselves just in the nick o’ time, an’ ta’en the twist out o’ it, hard to say how ’twould ’a ended. No doubt, in all o’ us dyin’ on that desert island, an’ layin’ our bones there. Thank the Lord, for our delivery – ’ithout any disparagement to what’s been done by both o’ you, young gentlemen. For that He must ha’ sent you, an has had a guidin’ hand throughout the whole thing, I can’t help thinkin’, ’specially when I look back on the scores o’ chances that seemed goin’ against the right, an’ still sheered round to it after all.”
“True,” assents Crozier, honouring the devout faith of the sailor. “You’re quite right in ascribing it to Divine interference. Certainly, God’s hand seems to have been extended in our favour. But go on!”
“Well, to commence at the beginnin’, which is when you left me at San Francisco. As I told Master Willie, that day he comed ashore in the dingy, I war engaged to go chief mate in the Chili barque. She war then a ship; afterward converted as ye see, through our shortness o’ hands.
“When I went aboard her, an’ for sev’ral days after, I war the only thing in the shape o’ sailor she’d got. Then her captain – that poor crazed creetur below – put advertisements in the papers, offering big pay; the which, as I then supposed, brought eleven chaps, callin’ themselves sailors, an’ shippin’ as such. One o’ ’em, for want o’ a better, war made second mate – his name bein’ entered on the books as Padilla. He war the last o’ the three swung up, an’ if ever man desarved hangin’, he did, bein’ the cruellest scoundrel o’ the lot.
“After we’d waited another day or two, an’ no more makin’ appearance, the skipper made up his mind to sail. Then the old gentleman, along wi’ the two saynoreetas, came aboard; when we cleared an’ stood out to sea.
“Afore leavin’ port, I had a suspishun about the sort o’ crew we’d shipped. But soon’s we are fairly afloat, it got to be somethin’ worse than suspishun; I war sartin then we’d an ugly lot to deal with. Still, I only believed them to be bad men – an’, if that war possible, worse seamen. I expected trouble wi’ them in sailin’ the vessel; an’ a likelihood o’ them bein’ disobedient. But on the second night after leavin’ land, I found out somethin’ o’ a still darker stripe – that they war neither more nor less than a gang o’ piratical conspirators, an’ had a plan already laid out. A lucky chance led to me discoverin’ their infarnal design. The two we’ve agreed to let go off – Jack Striker an’ Bill Davis – both old birds from the convict gangs o’ Australia – war talkin’ it over atween themselves, an’ I chanced to overhear them. What they sayed made everythin’ clear – as it did my hair to stand on eend. Twar a scheme to plunder the ship o’ the gold-dust Don Gregorio hed got in her; an’ carry off your young ladies. Same time they war to scuttle the vessel, an’ sink her; first knockin’ the old gentleman on the head, as well as the skipper; whiles your humble sarvint an’ the darkey are to be disposed o’ same sweet fashion.
“On listenin’ to the dyabolikal plot, I war clear dumfoundered, an’ for a while didn’t know what to do. ’Twar a case o’ life an’ death to some o’ us; an’ for the saynoreetas, somethin’ worse. At first I thort o’ telling Captain Lantanas, an’ also Don Gregorio. But then I seed if I shud, that ’twould only make death surer to all as were doomed. I knowed the skipper to be a man o’ innocent, unsuspishus nature, an’ mightn’t gi’e belief to such ’trocious rascality, as bein’ a thing possible. More like he’d let out right away, an’ bring on the bloody bizness sooner than they intended it. From what Striker and Davis said, I made out that it war to be kept back, till we should sight land near Panyma.
“Well; after a big spell o’ thinkin’, I seed a sort o’ way out of it – the only one appearin’ possible. ’Twar this: to purtend joinin’ in wi’ the conspirators, an’ put myself at thar head. I’d larnt from the talk o’ the two Sydney Ducks there war a split ’mong them, ’bout the dividin’ o’ the gold-dust. I seed this would gi’e me a chance to slip in along wi’ them. So takin’ advantage o’ it, I broached the bizness to Striker that same night, and got into his confidence, an’ theer councils; arterwards obtaining the influence I wanted.
“Mind, gentlemen, it took a smart show o’ trickery and maneuvrin’. ’Mong other things, I had to appear cool to the cabin people throughout all the voyage – specially them two sweet creeturs. Many’s the time my heart ached thinkin’ o’ yourself, Mr Crozier, as also Master Willie – an’ then o’ your sweethearts, an’ what might happen, if I should fail in my plan for protectin’ ’em. When they wanted to be free and friendly, an’ once began talkin’ to me, I hed to answer ’em gruff an’ growlin’, knowin’ that eyes war on me all the while, an’ ears listenin’. As to tellin’ them what was before, or givin’ them the slimmest hint o’ it, that would ’a spoilt my plans, an’ ruined everything. They’d a gone straight to the old gentleman, an’ then it would ’a been all up wi’ us. ’Twar clear to me they all couldn’t be saved, an’ that Don Gregorio himself would hev to be sacrificed, as well as the skipper an’ cook. I thought that dreadful hard; but thar war no help for’t, as I’d have enough on my hands in takin’ care o’ the women, without thinkin’ o’ the men. As the Lord has allowed, an’ thank Him for it, all ha’e been saved!”
The speaker pauses, in the fervour of his gratitude; which his listeners, respecting, in silence wait for him to continue the narration. He does so:
“At last, on sightin’ land, as agreed on, the day had come for the doin’ of the dark deed. It war after night when they set about it, myself actin’ as a sort o’ recognised leader. I’d played my part, so’s to get control o’ the rest. We first lowered a boat, putting our things into her. Then we separated, some to get out the gold-dust, others to seize the saynoreetas. I let Gomez look after them, for fear of bringing on trouble too soon. Me an’ Davis – who chances to be a sort o’ Jack carpenter – were to do the scuttlin’; an’, for that purpose, went down into the hold. There I proposed to him to give the doomed ones a chance for their lives, by lettin’ the barque float a bit longer. Though he be a convict, he warn’t nigh so bad as the rest.
“He consented to my proposal, an’ we returned on deck ’ithout tapping the barque’s bottom-timbers.
“Soon’s I had my head over the hatch coamin’, I seed them all below in the boat, the girls along wi’ them. I didn’t know what they’d done to the Don an’ skipper I had my fears about ’em, thinkin’ they might ha’e been murdered, as Padilla had proposed. But I darn’t go back to the cabin then, lest they might shove off, an’ leave us in the lurch: as some war threatenin’ to do, more than one wantin’ it, I know. If they’d done that – well, it’s no use sayin’ what might ha’ been the upshot. Tharfore, I had to hurry down into the boat. Then, we rowed away; leavin’ the barque just as she’d been the whole o’ that day.
“As we pulled shoreward, we could see her standing off, all sails set – same as tho’ the crew wor abroad o’ her workin’ ’em.”
“But her ensign reversed?” asks Cadwallader. “She was carrying it so, when we came across her. How came that, Harry?”
“Ah! the bit o’ buntin’ upside-down! I did that myself in the dark; thinkin’ it might get them a better chance o’ bein’ picked up. I’d just time to do it afore droppin’ into the boat.”
“And you did the very thing!” exclaims Crozier. “I see God’s hand in that surely! But for the distress signal, the Crusader would have kept on without giving chase; and – . But, proceed! Tell us what happened afterwards.”
“Well; we landed in the island, not knowin’ it to be a island. An’ theer’s another o’ the chances, showin’ we’ve been took care o’ by the little cherub as sits up aloft. If it hed been the mainland – well, I needn’t tell ye, things would now be different. After landin’, we stayed all night on the shore; the men sleeping in the biggest o’ the caves, while the ladies occupied a smaller one. I took care ’bout that separation myself, detarmined they shouldn’t come to no harm.
“That night theer war a thing happened which I dar say they’ve told you; an’ twar from them I afterwards larned that Gomez an’ Hernandez war no other than the two chaps you’d trouble wi’ at San Francisco. They went into the cave, an’ said some insultin’ things to the saynoreetas; I warn’t ’far off, an’ would ’a made short work wi’ them, hed it goed farther than talk.
“Well; up at a early hour next mornin’, we found the boat had drifted off seaward, an’ got bilged on the breakers. But supposin’ we shouldn’t want her any more, nobody thought anythin’ about it. Then comed the dividin’ o’ the gold-dust, an’ after it the great questyun – leastwise, so far as I war consarned – as to who should take away the girls. I’d been waitin’ for this, an’ for the settlin’ o’t I war ready to do or die. Gomez an’ Hernandez war the two who laid claim to ’em – as I knowed, an’ expected they would. Pertendin’ a likin’ for Miss Carmen myself, an’ puttin’ Davis up to what I wanted ’bout the tother, we also put in our claim. It ended in Gomez an’ me goin’ in for a fight; which must ’a tarminated in the death o’ one or other o’ us. I hed no dread o’ dyin’; only from the fear o’ its leavin’ the saynoreetas unprotected. But thar war no help for’t, an’ I agreed to the duel, which war to be fought first wi’ pistols, an’ finished up, if need be, wi’ the steel.
“Everythin’ settled, we war ’bout settin’ to, when one o’ the fellows – who’d gone up the cliff to take a look ahead – just then sung out, that we’d landed on a island. Recallin’ the lost boat, we knew that meant a dreadful danger. In coorse it stopped the fight, an’ we all rushed up to the cliff.
“When we saw how things stood, there war no more talk o’ quarrellin’. The piratical scoundrels war scared nigh out o’ thar senses; an’ would ’a been glad to get back aboard the craft they’d come out o’, the which all, ’ceptin’ Davis an’ myself, supposed to be at the bottom o’ the sea.
“After that, ’twar all safe, as far as concarned the saynoreetas. To them as wanted ’em so bad, they war but a second thought, in the face of starvation; which soon tamed the wolves down, an’ kep ’em so till the last o’ the chapter.
“Now, young gentlemen; ye know how Harry Blew hev behaved, an’ can judge for yourselves, whether he’s kep the word he gi’ed you ’fore leavin’ San Francisco.”
“Behaved nobly, grandly!” cries Crozier. “Kept your word like a man: like a true British sailor! Come to my arms – to my heart, Harry! And forgive the suspicions we had, not being able to help them. Here, Will! take him to yours, and show him how grateful we both are, to the man who has done more for us than saving our lives.”
“Bless you, Blew! God bless you!” exclaims Cadwallader, promptly responding to the appeal; and holding Harry in a hug that threatens to crush in his ribs.
The affecting scene is followed by an interval of profound silence; broken by the voice of Grummet, who, at the wheel, is steering straight into the port of Panama, now in sight.
“Mr Crozier!” calls out the old coxswain, “do ye see that craft – the one riding at anchor out yonder in the roadstead?”
All three turn their eyes in the direction indicated; soon as they have done so, together exclaiming:
“The Crusader!”
The last incident of our tale takes place at Cadiz, in a grand cathedral church; before the altar of which stand two English naval officers, and alongside each a beautiful Spanish damsel, soon to be his wedded wife.
It scarce needs to tell that the bridegrooms are Edward Crozier and Willie Cadwallader – both now lieutenants. Nor need we say who are the brides; since they are to be given away by Don Gregorio Montijo.
As little necessary to speak of the ceremonial splendour of that double wedding – long time the novedad of Cadiz.
Enough to say that present at it are all the wealth and fashion of the old Andalusian city, with foreign consuls, and the commanders of warships in the port: conspicuous amongst these, Captain Bracebridge, and the officers of Her Britannic Majesty’s frigate Crusader.
Also two other men of the sea – of its merchant service; to hear of whose presence there will, no doubt, make the reader happy, as it does both the brides and the bridegrooms to see them. They belong to a ship lying in the harbour, carrying polacca-masts, on her stern lettered “El Condor;” one of the two being her captain, called Lantanas; the other her chief officer, by name Blew.
God has been just and good to the gentle Chilian skipper, having long since lifted from his mind the cloud that temporarily obscured it. He now knows all, and above all, Harry Blew in his true colours; and, though on the Condor’s deck they are still captain and mate, when below by themselves in her cabin, all distinction of rank disappears, and they are affectionate friends – almost as brothers.
In the prosperous trading-craft Condor, re-converted into her original shape of ship – regularly voyaging between Valparaiso and Cadiz, exchanging the gold and silver of Chili for the silks and sweet wines of Spain – but few would recognise a barque once chased over the South Sea, believed to be a spectre; and, it is to be hoped, no one will ever again see her sailing under a Flag of Distress.