Part 19

While the fort was in building some of the Indians cleared a space among the wood. In the clearing they built a great house for the workers: a thatched house twelve feet high, with wattle walls made rainproof. The uprights supported the hammocks at night. Those who slept ashore built always a fire of aromatic leaves in the house’s centre. Before turning in they sprinkled this with water to make a smoke. Those who woke in the night smelt the sweet, strong smoke which made their eyes smart, and heard without the never-ceasing march of the surf, the drone of the dew-flies, and the drowsy twang of the mosquitoes, plagued by the smoke.

Captain Tucket returned after some days with a sample of logwood and a consort. The consort was that Captain Pain who afterwards made such a stir in the Western Gulf. He was a prosperous captain even then. His ship was a fine French-built vessel of great beauty. His crew numbered ninety-seven hands, the very flower of the trade. He seemed suspicious of Margaret, who opened a trade with him on liberal terms. The privateers bought arms and clothes, paying for them with silver and gold; but there was constraint on both sides. The privateers were suspicious. At dinner in the trade-room Captain Pain gave voice to his suspicions.

“You’re a gentleman,” he said. “I don’t know what you want out here.”

“Well,” said Margaret, “I’ve already told you. I’ve a scheme for breaking the Spanish power here. But before I take any violent action I wish to try once again to establish a trade on ordinary, peaceful, European lines. There is no reason why they shouldn’t trade.”

“And if they do,” said Pain, “where do we come in?”

“You will be my partner, I hope,” said Margaret. “We will have all these islands laid out in vanillas, cacao, indigo, anatta, cochineal, everything. All the Isthmus there will be our estate. We shall trade with the Spaniards and the whole of Europe.”

“Very nice, too,” said Pain. “But if the Spaniards won’t trade?”

“Then we shall declare that they’ve no right here, and that we, in the name of the rest of the world, have a right to assist the rightful owners of the country, who wish us to trade.”

“And then a governor’ll come, and stop our going on the account,” said Pain.

“Yes. But if he does,” said Margaret, “you must see that with the Isthmus in your hands you’ll be better off than you are now. What do you do now? You pick up a boatful of sugar once a month, and share a crown a man. Then you run short of food and go to Toro for turtle.”

“That’s it, Pete,” said Cammock.

“Your scheme’s very pretty,” Pain said. “But you’re a gentleman. I ain’t a gentleman myself, thank God, and I don’t know what your game is. You’re either a bit off your biscuit, or you’re in with the Government. That’s my candid opinion.”

“All right,” said Margaret. “We won’t go into that.”

At this moment Stukeley entered, a little flown with rum, from the ward-room dinner.

“Hello, Maggy,” he said. “I’ve come to talk with Captain Pain here. Your servant, captain. I suppose these twisters here have been talking about and about it. Eh? They make a man sick, I say. Eh? Hold your tongue, Maggy. Wait till you’re spoken to. I’ve got something to say. The men of war--my friends in the ’tween-decks there--they’ve been talking with me while you’ve been talking here. You talk all day, and leave off just where you were.”

“And what have you done?” said Perrin.

“I’m not addressing you, Pilly.”

“Do you come as the spokesman of the men of war?” Margaret asked.

“Yes, I do, my little Maggy.”

“Gamage is a shy, retiring soul,” Perrin said.

“He isn’t a crawler, anyway.”

“Well,” Cammock said, “let’s have the message. Here’s Captain Pete waiting on us.”

“Right,” Stukeley said, sitting down at the table. “Then I’m to tell you that the men of war want to know when they’re going to have what they came for. They’re sick of doing sentry-go in the ant-heap yonder. They signed for a roving life.”

“They signed to obey our orders,” Cammock said. “They’ll get all the roving they’ve a need for soon enough.”

“So they say,” Stukeley answered. “If you don’t give it them they’ll take it, and half your crew besides.”

“I’ll look after my crew,” Cammock said.

“Not with Captain Tucket and Captain Pain here,” said Stukeley, grinning. “You see. If you cut up nasty, Cammock. Why. You’ve a very good ship, and a lot of useful weapons in your hold. Long eighteens. Eh? Carry a mile and a quarter. What’s to stop us putting you ashore. Eh?”

“That’s what we did to the Frenchman,” Cammock said. “D’you remember, Pete?”

“At the Isla Vache,” said Pain, looking down modestly. “I remember.”

He spoke with such a strange inflection that none there could guess his meaning, though all looked at him curiously. He turned to Stukeley with attention, as though expecting something more.

“So,” Stukeley continued, “your humble servants of the ’tween-decks ask that you will give them a brush. Or----”

“Or what?”

“They’ll ask Captain Pain here to find them hammock-space.”

Captain Pain seemed to search Stukeley’s face for something further.

“You seem determined to put me in a queer position, mister,” he said. “But come now, Mr. Margaret. What’s wrong with having a go at Tolu? We’ve a hundred and ninety men. Why not?”

“I must trade, or try to trade. I’ve told you. I’m a merchant.”

“Quite right, sir,” said Tucket. “I’m a merchant, too. I’d be only too glad to trade.”

“They won’t let you,” said Stukeley. “So why not look at the position honestly.”

“Well. Trade. Try it,” said Pain. “If you try it, you’ll get a sickener. Then you’ll fight all the better, after.”

“They used to trade,” said Cammock. “I’ve known a lot of interloping done. At Maracaibo they traded.”

“They won’t now,” Pain said. “Any man caught trading without the King’s license is up for the everlasting prison remediless. You don’t believe me. You try.”

“I shall try,” Margaret said.

“Right O,” said Pain. “Then we’ll sail to-morrow. Our two ships will keep out of sight of land. We could lie by among them Bernadoes. You can send in samples with your interpreter in Captain Tucket’s sloop. If they see a big ship standing in they’ll fire at her. So send the sloop. They’ll not listen to you. They’ll likely fire at the sloop. So the next morning we’ll land and take the town. There’s twenty pound a man in Tolu. Silver.”

Cammock, to give Margaret the cue, for he knew that Pain held the whip hand, said that he approved. “That sounds like business,” he said. “This is Tolu, Captain Margaret.” He pulled out a quarto pocket-book containing elaborate charts of many places on the Main. The book had been the work of many days, and of many hands, for some of the charts had been copied, some made on the spot, some taken in fight, others bought, or drawn from hearsay, or bequeathed. It contained manuscript notes worth a lot of money to a good many people. “This is Tolu, sir. In Morrosquillo Gulf here. This long beach runs twenty miles. It’s all hard sand, shelving, and shallowish water in the gulf. Then back of the town there’s forest. But all very flat land, as far as Cispata. Ain’t that so, Pete?”

“Flat as your palm. Them’s nice maps you got, Lion.”

“Yes. I got some nice ones of these here islands. Every anchorage and spring marked. Basil done them. You remember Basil, Pete. He was a very good drawer.”

“Doctor Basil? Yes. He drawed a tooth of mine once.”

“Ah? Now as for Tolu, Captain Margaret. It’s a walled town. But the only guns are in the sea-wall. And the wall ain’t much more than gabions. Not much stone about it. If it comes to fighting, we’ll land on the beach away south here, and creep up, wading, along the beach, so as to arrive about dawn.”

“Well, Captain Pain,” said Margaret. “We’ll sail to-morrow. We’ll see which of us is right.”

He smiled pleasantly, but his thoughts were bitter. He saw that to succeed on the Main one needed to be one of the crowd. Pain there, the inscrutable, pale man, had long ago decided how to use him. He, a cultured gentleman, with a King’s commission, was in Pain’s hands. He must either go with Pain, or lose his crew. His crew would follow Pain at a nod. If he tried to coerce either Pain or his crew, he saw that there would be trouble. The _Broken Heart_ would be taken from him. He had not thought of this chance; but he remembered a word of Cammock’s: “Give them some little success, and they’ll do anything.” If this trading venture prospered, he could proceed to Jamaica, he could come to some treaty with the Spaniards, pledging himself to put down privateering. If the trading venture failed, then it would rest with him to make a conquest of the Indies, to gather all these thieves into a company, and strike at Spain till she tottered. After Tolu, and Tolu would have to be a success, he would lead them against Cartagena. Then he might be able to make a head. At present he was a “new standard.” He understood Pain’s point of view. He knew that he must appear to Pain as an uppish youth who thought that he knew more than old hands. He would show them that he did know more.

“By the way, Pete,” Cammock said, “what come of George Bond?”

Pete laughed. “Oh, him,” he said. “He went to Portobel, and joined the Spaniards.”

“How did the Spaniards treat him?” Perrin asked. He had heard of that wild spirit from Cammock.

“Dunno,” said Pain carelessly. “Give him a position in the Government, I heard.” He turned to Cammock. “One of Bill Knight’s lot was in Panama a year ago,” he continued. “He said he was got to be a big one there.”

“Ah?” said Cammock. “Well. It’s right, too. There’s very good openings for a man in a Spanish town here.”

“Indeed,” said Margaret. “I should have thought there was bitter feeling.”

“Not a bit of it, sir. There’s only the religious trouble.”

“That didn’t worry George much,” Pete said.

After this the conversation died down, till Stukeley asked if a herald from a landing party ran risk of being shot.

“No,” said Pain. “I done it two or three times. You go ashore under a white flag, holding up your hands, and then they come and blindfold you, and take you into the town. Then you say your piece to the Governor, and then you come back.”

“Then,” said Stukeley, “you’d better prime me now in what you want said, Maggy. I must have a set speech ready for anything the old cove asks me.”

“That’s quite true. I’m glad you reminded me. We’ll go into it. To-morrow morning, then, Captain Pain. But I wish you could have waited till my ship was scrubbed.”

“Time enough, Mr. Margaret,” Pain answered. “We’ll careen her when we come back.”

He went on deck with Cammock, leaving Margaret to instruct Stukeley in the matter of his speech to the Spanish Governor. One speech, which ran, “Your Excellency, I hold my King’s commission. If you permit me to trade here I pledge my honour to assist your King against his enemies in these seas,” seemed to Stukeley to be a pleasant jest. He repeated it, grinning, till he had it letter perfect. Then he repeated it in Spanish, and left the cabin, laughing.

“Come back here a moment, Stukeley,” Margaret called. “I’ve got something I want to say to you.”

“What now?” Stukeley answered.

“Stukeley,” he said, “we’re going on a dangerous business to-morrow. I want you before we leave the ship to see your wife. Will you do that? I don’t want to preach. I only ask you to realize what it might be to her if anything happened to you.”

“I’ll manage my own relations with my wife,” he answered.

“Stukeley, she’s a long way from friends. Life isn’t very sweet to her.”

“I’ll make it a good deal sourer if you come crawling round. Well, I’ll see her. Now then. No more. Good night, Captain Maggy.”

The door slammed behind him with a clatter of swinging hooks. Margaret was alone, his face buried in his hands, with his world tottering about him, ready to fall.

XI. THE FLAG OF TRUCE

“Was it not sin enough, and wickedness, Thus like a rotten rascal to abuse The name of Heav’n, the tie of marriage, The honour of thy friends, the expectation, Of all that thought thee virtuous, with rebellion, After forgiveness, too?” _The Woman’s Prize._

In the morning, when they were under way, with the two little hills of Pinos astern of them, and the ship’s bows turned towards Morrosquillo, far to the east, still two days distant, Captain Margaret sent Perrin to the cabin to request an audience with Olivia. As he had feared, she refused to see him. She sat, pale and exhausted, at the table, Perrin said, too weary of life to ask whither they were bound, or to ask the nature of their consorts, now sailing easily, under reduced sail, near the lumbering _Broken Heart_, foul with long weeks at sea. She did not care what happened; but, finding Perrin importunate, she left the cabin, and for two days saw no one. On the second day the ships anchored between Ceycen and the Overfalls, in a harbour shut away by wooden keys, from which the brooks fell pleasantly, with a rippling chatter, that was drowsy and delightsome, after the glare of the sun on the sea, in the hot calms. They loaded the sloop with samples during the afternoon, and chose out hands to go in her. Stukeley was to go as herald and interpreter, Margaret as principal, in case the matter came to a conference; while as crew they picked ten from the _Broken Heart_, five from Pain, five from Tucket, all good shots, well armed. Perrin was to stay aboard with Cammock, so that Olivia might have a friend aboard, in case the sloop was lost.

After breakfast, Margaret made a last attempt to speak with her. He entered the cabin unannounced, to find her sitting alone, in a black gown, a Bible before her, and her face all pale, her eyes with dark rings round them. She looked up as he entered, then sank back, closing her eyes, with a sharp intake of her breath.

“What do you want with me?” she asked in a hard voice. “Have you come to see if--if----”

“Olivia,” he answered, “I’ve come to tell you that I’m going to a town, now. There’s danger. I’m going with. I mean. Your husband is coming. It’s a dangerous service. I want you to try to realize that. That your husband’s going on a dangerous service. That you might like to see him.”

“Yes,” she answered. “That I might like to see him. Go on.”

“That is all,” he said. “Except that I may not see you again. That I wouldn’t like.” The words dragged; his mouth was quite dry. He stumbled in his speech and began again.

“Olivia,” he said. “My conduct. I thought I acted for the best. I ask you to forgive me.”

“Forgive you?” she said. “Thank you. But I’ve no wish to. You lied to me from the moment I came into the ship. You lied at Salcombe. At Falmouth. All the voyage. In Virginia. And then you thought you had lied enough for your purpose. You let me learn the truth.”

“Yes,” he answered, “I lied. I lied to save you.”

“Ah,” she said, with disgust. “You lied to save me, till it was too late for me to hear the truth.”

“Olivia,” he continued, “I won’t speak more of myself. Your husband. I think he wants. He wants to see you. There may be danger. He wants to see you. He wants to say good-bye. I am going now,” he added. “Olivia, we’ve been in each other’s lives a long time. Could you. Could you let this.” He stumbled in his speech again. She did not help him. His throat was dry like a kiln; he seemed unable to speak. “I am going now,” he said again. “I’ll send your husband to you.” He bowed, and left the cabin. As he closed the door he thought that he could not remember his last sight of her. He could not remember her face as it had last looked upon him.

In the alleyway he met Stukeley coming from Cammock’s state-room.

“I was looking for you,” said Stukeley. “We’re waiting for you. It’s time we went.”

“Your wife’s in the cabin,” he answered. “She’s waiting for you. To say good-bye.” As he spoke, the cabin door opened, and Olivia came out into the alley-way.

“Tom,” she said, “where are you going with this man?”

“Hello, Livy,” he answered. “I’m just going ashore, to interview the Spaniards.”

“He says that there is danger.”

“Danger? Rubbish. You ass, Maggy. Why can’t you keep your head shut?”

“Oh. So perhaps he lied again.”

“I’ll leave you,” Margaret said, turning away.

“No. Do not go,” she answered. “I’ve something to say to you, Tom. I want you to hear it, Charles. Tom, there’s danger in going ashore here. Oh, I know it. I know it. Tom, dear, since we came here there’s been something between us always. Ever since. Tom, dear, you were afraid that I should be angry. Unforgiving. You might have trusted me, Tom. You were afraid I should hate you. I wasn’t very wise. It was so sudden. And I wasn’t myself, Tom. It’s not too late, dear. Don’t let it be too late, Tom.” She paused, looking to her husband for the answer she had put into his mouth. Stukeley found it hard to answer. “Oh, Tom, I want you back. I want you back.”

“There, Livy,” Stukeley said. “There, Livy.” He took her in his arms and kissed her. “When I come back, dear,” he added. “I must go now. I’m going ashore.”

“Don’t go, Tom. Oh, Tom, don’t go. There’s danger. You may be hurt. Charles, tell him.”

“It’s all right, old girl. They all swore there’s not the slightest danger. We shall be back by four o’clock if the wind holds.”

“There’s danger,” Margaret said.

“Tom, you wouldn’t leave me at a moment like this.”

“I must, Livy.” A thought seemed to strike him. “Look here, Livy. It must be our first step to--to our new life together. To a new life out here.”

“Tom, my darling, are you sure there’s no danger?”

“There is no danger. None. How many more times?”

“Charles,” she said, “come here. I’ve been. Been. Not myself. I spoke cruelly. I want you to forgive me, Charles. Take my hand. And yours, Tom. This is going to be the beginning of a new life together. Will you let it be that, Charles? You will, Tom?”

“Yes,” said Tom.

“It shall be that,” Margaret said. They shook hands in the alleyway, making their bonds of peace.

“You’re my Tom again now,” she said lowly. “I’ve forgotten all the rest, dear.”

“Right,” he said, kissing her. “I was a beast. Good-bye, dear.”

“Not a beast,” she said. “Never that.”

Margaret turned aside, crushing his hat-brim, wondering what new misery was in store for her. He walked softly out on deck, leaving the two to their farewell. Perrin said something to him. Cammock was not in sight. A little knot of men stood in the waist, idly watching the sloop.

Presently Stukeley came from the alleyway with a grin upon his face. “Anything for a quiet life,” he said. “Down into the boat with you, Maggy.”

As they shoved off from the _Broken Heart_, Olivia waved to them from her state-room port. Margaret felt a pang of remorse that he had not shaken hands with Perrin, nor spoken with Cammock, before leaving the ship. He was nearly alongside the sloop when he saw Cammock’s hat above the poop nettings.

“He’s hailing you, Captain Margaret,” said the stroke oar.

“Oars a moment.” The men lay on their oars, watching the drops fall from the blades into the sea. The roar of Cammock sounded.

“What does he say?” said Margaret. “I can’t make out.”

“Something about a map, I think he said, sir.”

“Did you hear, Stukeley?”

“Map or tap, or something. But let’s go on. We’re late.”

“No. I must hear. Back a stroke, port oars. Why, starboard. I’ll pull back to find out. Way together.”

Fifty yards nearer to the ship they again lay on their oars. This time the hail was clear.

“Have you seen my book of maps?”

“No,” Margaret shouted. “You had it in your pocket last night.”

“What’s that you say?”

“You had it in your pocket last night.”

“Yes. But I can’t find it.”

“I’ve not had it. Ask Mr. Perrin.” He sat down in his seat, Cammock shouted a farewell, to which Margaret raised his hand in salute.

“He’s lost his book of maps,” said Margaret to Stukeley.

“Nothing can be lost in a ship,” said Stukeley. “Besides, what’s a book of maps?”

“That book was worth a good deal. The Spaniards would pay a high price for it. With all those charts to help them, they could put down privateering when they pleased.”

“Oh, rubbish,” said Stukeley, swinging himself up the sloop’s side. “He could easy get duplicates.”

The sloop was already under sail. The men climbed aboard, and let the boat drag astern. The helm was put up a little, the fore sheet was let draw. Soon, as the boom swung over, straining the blocks, when the mainsail filled, they slipped clear the anchorage. Looking over the rail, they saw the nettings of the two ships lined with men, some of whom waved caps in farewell.

Captain Tucket came to command his sloop. He talked little; for he was trying a new dye. He was boiling a handkerchief in a pan of herbs, over a little brazier fixed on the deck. The experiment made him silent; but in moments of enthusiasm he spoke a few words, stirring the mess with a fid.

“What colour are you trying to get?” Margaret asked.

“One of them bright greens the Indians get.”

“You never will, cap,” said the helmsman. “Them Indians use moss; a kind of tree moss. I’ve seed ’em do it.”

“Well, if this don’t turn out a green, I’ll wash in it.”

“What’s the matter, Stukeley? Is anything the matter?” Stukeley had burst out laughing without apparent reason.

“Nothing’s the matter,” Stukeley answered. “I was thinking of my interview with the Governor.”

It was high noon when they arrived at Tolu Road. They hoisted a white flag, and stood in boldly till they were a mile to the south-west of the town. Here the sloop was hove-to, while the men prepared for their journey. The six oarsmen of the whale-boat stuffed loaded pistols within their shirts, and laid their muskets in oilskin cases below the thwarts. Margaret and Stukeley sat in the sternsheets, both wearing their swords. Tucket, who steered with an oar, was armed with pistols. A flag of truce was hoisted in the boat. Tucket told his mate to keep a sharp look out in the sloop, and to run in to pick them up “if anything happened.” Then the little lugsail was hoisted, and the boat began to move towards the town.

Margaret was disappointed with himself as the boat crept on towards the town. He had so often lived over this adventure in his fancy that the reality seemed tame to him. He was disappointed with the look of the city; it seemed but a mean place; a church, a fort, a few stone houses, a gleam of red pantiles against the forest, and a mud wall ringing it in. The bell tinkled in the belfry, tinkled continually, jerked by a negro who had had no orders to stop. It seemed to Margaret that a bell was out of place in that half-savage town. It was not a Christian town. Those were not Christians on the beach. They were Indians, negroes, convicts, runaways, half-breeds. They needed some bloodier temple than that old church in the square. They needed a space in the forest, lit by fires in the night. They needed the reek of sacrifice and the clang of gongs. And this was the place he had sailed to. Here his life’s venture was to be put to the touch. Here, in this place, this little old squalid city between the sea and the jungle. All the long anxieties were to be resolved there. There on the sand, beyond the spume of the breakers, the doubts were to end. He could not bring himself to care. His thoughts ran on the pale face of Olivia, on her words to him, on the possibility of a new life for her.

“Stukeley,” he said, speaking very quietly in his hearer’s ear, “look here. I want to say this. After this business, if you care, would you like to settle in Jamaica or somewhere? Or in France? You and Olivia? You could draw on me, you know. We could start something together.”

Stukeley seemed to measure the distance between the boat and the shore. He looked at Margaret with a gleam of humour in his eyes.

“Thanks,” he said. “I’ll think it over.”

“Very well,” Margaret said. “There comes the captain. What strange little horses. Are they imported, Captain Tucket?”