CHAPTER X.

FOR ONE NIGHT AT THE AZORES.

In heading for the Antilles there were several routes which they could take.

It was possible to make a bee line almost due south-west, stopping at the Azores on the way; or they could follow the plan adopted by Spain in sending her ships of war across, heading almost due south to the Canary islands, then on nearly the same course until the Cape Verdes were reached, after which a run to the west would bring them to the Porto Rico coast.

Roderic was much interested in this matter and held many consultations with the old captain as to what line he had marked out.

Perhaps--for somehow our purely selfish personal ends will crop up despite us--he was speculating as to what chances they had of overtaking the blockade runner, should they have decided upon the same course.

There are always so many possibilities governing these things.

Though the ocean appears limitless, there are times when people come together in a most remarkable manner.

Fate takes a hand in many a game and this seemingly boundless sea becomes as a veritable mill pond, where boys float their rafts and have collisions.

Roderic learned that their course was to be laid by way of the Azores, those sentinels of the vasty deep that lie far out in midocean between the two warring countries, the United States and Spain.

He spent a portion of the first morning afloat in examining the vessel from keel to truck so to speak, and was loud in his praise of her stanch abilities.

She had been built on the Clyde, and was of course put together to stay--those canny Scots have a faculty for making timbers hold together through hurricane blows and all manner of extreme usage, that is unexcelled in any other part of the world, so that the very name carries weight; as does the Belfast engine, some of which on old White Star liners have done noble duty a score and a half of years.

Roderic's praise was so unstinted that the old captain, who loved his craft as only a seaman may, was quite tickled.

He had taken a great liking for Owen, which was not at all strange, for they were both men built very much upon the same model, possessing sterling characteristics.

Perhaps it was apt to become something of a mutual admiration society, for Roderic recognized a kindred spirit--what he admired in a man and sought to exemplify in his own person was present in the composition of this rough and ready British sailorman.

It also pleased him to know Cleo had been fortunate enough to secure such a reliable mariner, and yet he realized this was as much the result of good judgment on her part as any luck.

At least he would never suspect that the Virginia maid had immediately fancied the grim old mariner because she discovered many of his sterling characteristics to be the same as those she had admired in Roderic from boyhood.

That was her secret which she would hardly have acknowledged even to her own heart.

The weather too was propitious.

A splendid breeze blew, and as they were provided with sails, these were utilized in order to further increase their speed.

Roderic gloried in the fact that he had never been sea sick a minute in his life, and he had also seen some pretty rough times afloat, from being caught in a dreadful typhoon in the China sea to being wrecked by a West India hurricane.

He had provided himself with Clarke Russell's latest ocean yarn, and as his own condition was fully equal to that so aptly described by this wizard of sea stories, he could doubly appreciate the vivid descriptions of storm and calm, hot chase and wreck, and all the manifold phases of life on the boundless deep, given in a manner that has never been rivaled.

They also played shuffle board, tossed deck quoits and amused themselves as pilgrims on the briny ocean learn to do when time hangs heavy.

Roderic read aloud some of the most remarkable passages which bore the witchery of pen genius, and glancing up at the swelling white sails or around at the watery horizon only marked by a wave crest circle, they were in a position to feel the vigor of the description such as no landsman, lounging in a hammock, far from the sea, which mayhap he had never gazed upon, could ever experience.

Numerous vessels were sighted during the first day, steamers and sailing craft.

There is always keen pleasure watching these pilgrims of the deep through the glasses and surmising what they are, the nature of their cargo, whence they come and whither bound.

After this day such sights would become more rare, for their course was out of the usual transatlantic run.

Doubtless in the good old days when galleons laden with silver and other treasures from the Spanish Main and Mexican mines were on this route to Spain, many a piratical craft bore along this self same course with men alow and aloft on the keen lookout for rich prizes which could be looted, and scuttled with their wretched crews, their fate ever to remain one of the mysteries of the mighty deep.

Such romantic thoughts crept into Roderic's mind--the situation was conducive to their inception.

Besides, his own fortunes were really as much tinged with the spicy flavor of adventure and romance as any he could imagine in connection with those olden days.

Another day and they apparently owned the earth--at least from sunrise to sunset not a vessel was sighted going in any direction.

The spouting of whales, the gyrations of sharks indicated by the sword-like dorsal fin sticking out of the water, and such aquatic features were all that broke the monotony of the livelong day.

Roderic many times scanned the horizon ahead, and the sight of a distant steamer was enough to arouse his eager interest, for he could not get it out of his mind that the girl he so passionately loved was somewhere on that vast deep, and there was always a possibility of the speedy steam yacht overtaking the slower blockade runner.

Some people hang their faith on small things, lovers especially.

It is possible to find a needle in a haystack, and yet it would hardly pay one to devote a great length of time in the search.

However, lusty hope buoys the heart up, and often leads to wonderful accomplishments.

A change came in the weather.

One can not always expect favoring winds and clear skies on the fretful Atlantic--the storms will blow in summer as well as during the cold season.

Cleo had assured Roderic of her faith in the Dreadnaught as a stanch boat in case of rough weather.

He found the yacht more seaworthy than he had believed possible.

She rode the mighty rollers like a duck, and at no time was there danger aboard.

Still, this was only a sample of what the old Atlantic could kick up on occasion, and no matter how good the boat, one who has experienced the horrors of a genuine hurricane while afloat, never feels a hankering after its repetition--there is a majesty about the mighty deep when aroused to fury that awes the stoutest human heart; and those who have sailed over its trackless wastes the longest have the greatest respect for its sovereignty.

Of course the storm drove them out of their expected direct route to the Portuguese Azores, and delayed their arrival at the sentinel islands.

Although these islands be along the short route from Spain to her West India possessions,--to be hers no longer--as a usual thing ships from the mother country prefer the longer passage, partly because the runs are more broken, the wind more apt to be favorable, and possibly for the reason that some of her fortified possessions, the Canaries lie off the coast of northern Africa.

Thus, not a great business has been done at the Azores under the best of conditions, and this was interfered with while the war lasted, as Spanish craft feared to sail so far away from fortified ports, lest some of the fast auxiliary cruisers of Uncle Sam, on the eager lookout for prizes, gobble them up.

As they sighted land, Roderic could hardly conceal his impatience.

Was the Sterling Castle in port?

That would be a strange coincidence truly, and yet this sanguine lover had the nerve to believe it might be true.

Upon some men fortune showers favors so readily that they become rank optimists, and expect astonishing results from the most scanty scattering of seed.

Indeed, chance plays quite a part in their calculations.

The day was almost at its close when they drew near the islands.

With the rosy bloom of the setting sun shining upon their green slopes, the picture was one calculated to strike the eye as remarkably fine.

Especially would this be the case with an ocean traveler who for some days had looked upon nothing but a watery waste--the green trees and grass appeal to his heart. This is always the case after a voyage--land looks doubly inviting when necessity or desire for a change has taken us away from friendly shores.

The night fell before they drew close enough to port to give Roderic the opportunity of finding out whether the steamer he sought was among those anchored in the little bay.

Which was a keen disappointment to him.

As an ardent lover much allowance can be given so good a fellow.

Cleo was almost as eager--she felt a warm desire to look upon her successful rival face to face. There was no mean design in this, no hope of being able to find fault, or discover that Roderic had made a wretched choice.

She realized how furiously in love with the girl from Porto Rico this cousin of hers was, and since she had been unable to arouse such a passion within his breast, naturally she experienced a genuine desire to look upon the lovely being who had awakened the sacred fire in his bachelor heart.

Then again, Cleo was honest in her expressed desire to be friendly with one whom fortune seemed destined to make her cousin.

Glasses were of little avail, since night's shadows had begun to fall.

It would not be dark, since a young July moon still held forth after a fashion, to show them the way into port.

A peculiar uneasiness had possessed Roderic.

It dated from the conclusion of the blow.

Somehow, when looking upon the last most violent efforts of the miniature hurricane, the thought had occurred to him, what of the Sterling Castle?

Was she also exposed to this storm?

The chances seemed to favor such a conclusion.

He began to make new inquiries concerning her sea worthiness.

Was her crew English or Spanish?

If the latter he had grave doubts.

Captain Beven was able to give him some information that eased his mind.

The steamer while mature in years was not an old hulk, by any means--Beven had himself once served on her as second officer during a voyage to Singapore, and he had reason to commend her seaworthy qualities.

As to her present outfit he believed it was mostly English and Swedes, though there might be a few Spanish among them.

The captain was an ancient tar, a dare devil who had seen service all over the earth, been engaged in South American naval wars, was with China in her conflict against Japan, and bore the scars of a dozen wounds.

Such a man, afraid of nothing on earth, made an ideal blockade runner.

The bold Yankees would find that they did not quite monopolize all the valor on earth with their Hobsons and Deweys.

There were others, of the same strain and speech, whom no danger could daunt.

This was Captain Beven's tribute to the commander of the blockade runner.

Roderic was not sorry to hear it, since _she_ would be safer in the charge of such a wonderful seaman.

He went down to dinner in this state of anxiety, but under the lively sallies of his cousin soon recovered his usual good spirits. Cleo could arouse him more quickly than any one else he knew--she seemed to appeal to some chord in his composition which responded just as the harp does to the touch of the musician. When they came on deck again after dinner, the little steam yacht was just entering the harbor.

Captain Beven, knowing how fond the Portuguese are of ceremony and display, fired his little cannon in salute as they passed the picturesque old fort and castle guarding the bay, and after a little delay, quite excusable with the Portuguese gunners, an answering salvo came from the frowning battlements that, seen in daylight were probably not one quarter as dangerous looking as they appeared under the tender light of the young moon.

They found an anchorage among other shipping, where they could swing at anchor.

At the most only a short stop was intended here.

They would take on board fresh water, some fruits and vegetables, together with chickens and eggs.

During the few hours in the morning while this was being done, Roderic and his cousin expected to go ashore and see what the place of which they had frequently heard yet never seen, looked like.

They could easily give a guess.

There is a striking similarity among all ports under Spanish and Portuguese flags.

The picturesque struggles with disorder--from a little distance the view is entrancing, but familiarity breeds contempt.

Especially is this true with the rank odors that usually predominate.

With twinkling lights on shore, a balmy breeze fanning their cheeks, and the odor of flowers wafted over the water, it was very romantic to stand upon the deck of the yacht, anchored in still waters, after having passed so many days upon the heaving deep.

Nor was there any lack of sound.

Men's voices floated over the water, laughter was heard from parties of pleasure seekers in small boats, and from various quarters came the sound of music.

Sweet indeed do the notes of mandolin or guitar sound when mellowed by the water--there is a peculiar richness and sympathy to the strumming of the taut strings that cannot be produced under other conditions.

Besides, the poetry of the thing appeals to what is romantic in the heart.

Lovers delight to glide upon the moonlit water.

No wonder then that Venice with her canals and gondolas should be classed as a veritable Paradise for such devoted people.

Roderic smoked his last cigar strong in the hope of replenishing his stock on the morrow.

A band situated upon some open plaza discoursed military music, and at that distance even carping critics found little fault.

The evening was gliding away.

It passed with leaden wings to Roderic, whose ardent spirit longed for the first streak of dawn, in the anticipation of being able to discover whether or not the vessel that bore Georgia was in the harbor.

There was something almost unendurable in the suspense, and it required considerable determination to crush down the spirit that demanded some immediate action on his part.

He had been compelled to go back to the comforts of his more plebeian pipe, nor did its solace fail to soothe his troubled spirit.

Thus time slipped away.

Four bells had struck.

Ere long they would be thinking of seeking their berths, and for one Roderic confessed that the summons would not come amiss.

He yawned several times as though he had not yet been able to make up the sleep lost while they were in the grasp of the storm, when all hands found it impossible to remain in their bunks.

Truth to tell he was thinking that sleep would bridge over the time until dawn, and cause him to forget his anxieties.

The lights still glimmered, nor had the sounds of music and revelry abated one particle.

Night to the average Spanish mind means a period for chasing dull care away in music, the dance and carousal.

While Roderic sat thus, his thoughts flitting from one subject to another, since no one had spoken for quite some time, a figure approached which he recognized upon glancing up as belonging to Captain Beven.

As the mariner stooped over him he electrified Owen with the few words he softly uttered.

"Sir, I have reason to believe the steamer Sterling Castle lies at anchor just off our port quarter!"