CHAPTER III

SAFE ARRIVAL OF THE "BELLA PAULA"

The crowd of people ran through the streets in the direction of the port. Foremost, accompanied by six or eight sailors, his son Pablo and several friends, came Don Rosendo, silent and preoccupied as he listened to his companions' remarks, uttered in voices panting from exertion.

"Don Domingo is in luck to get in at nearly high tide," said a sailor, alluding to the captain of the "Bella Paula."

"How do you know he is coming in? He may have cast anchor this afternoon," remarked another.

"Where?"

"You ask 'where?' you fool! Why, in the Bay, of course," replied the other in a rage.

"If so, we should see her, Uncle Miguel."

"How could we see her, you idiot? Why shouldn't she have dropped anchor behind the Corvera Rock?"

"The flag of the 'Bella Paula' would float higher than the rock, Uncle Miguel."

"Whatever do you know about it?"

"What cargo does she carry?" asked a bystander of the owner.

"Four thousand hundredweight."

"From Scotland?"

"No, all from Norway."

"Is the Señorita de las Cuevas on board?"

Don Rosendo did not reply; but after a few more quick steps he turned round, saying:

"Don Melchor must be told that the 'Bella Paula' is coming in."

"I'll go," said a sailor, detaching himself from the crowd, and turning back to the town.

They arrived at the mole. The night was starless, the wind had sunk, the sea was calm. They passed the little old mole, and directed their steps to the end of the new mole, which had been recently built, and stretched some little distance out to sea. Lights from the moored boats shone here and there in the darkness; the thick network of riggings was scarcely discernible, and the hulks looked like formless black masses.

The newcomers did not at first perceive another group of people at the end of the mole until they came upon them. They were all silent, with their eyes fixed on the sea, trying to make out the lines of the ship in the mist. The waves breaking monotonously against the rocks near by occasionally shimmered in the darkness.

"Where is she?" asked several of the comers from the theatre, as they cast their eyes around.

"There!"

"Where?"

"Don't you see a little green light there to the left? Follow my hand."

"Ah! Yes, now I see."

Don Rosendo went on to the second stage of the mole, and there ran against Don Melchor de las Cuevas. He was an old, very tall, wiry man; he wore his beard sailor fashion, that is to say, he let it hang round his neck like a bag. He had a stronger reason for doing this than the majority of the people of Sarrio who do so, for he belonged to the honored profession of the navy, although he was now on the retired list. But in seaport towns, and particularly when the place is small like that of which we are speaking, the maritime element preponderates, and so permeates the place that the inhabitants, unintentionally, and in spite of themselves, adopt certain sailor customs, words, and fashions.

The Señor de las Cuevas had been a gallant, fine fellow when he was young, and now at seventy-four he was still a vigorous, active man, with bright, penetrating eyes, aquiline nose, a fine, open countenance, and a bearing full of energy and decision.

He was standing on one of the seats fixed against the wall of the mole, with an enormous telescope turned toward the little green light which shone intermittently in the distance. He was by far the tallest figure in the group of spectators.

"Don Melchor, you here already! I have just sent a messenger to your house."

"I have been here for an hour," returned the Señor de las Cuevas, taking his glass from his eye. "I saw the ship from the observatory a little after sunset."

"Who would have thought it? How is it that nothing at sea escapes your observation?"

"I have better sight than when I was a lad of twenty," said Don Melchor in a loud, decided voice for all to hear.

"I believe it, I believe it, Don Melchor."

"I can see a little launch tack twenty miles off."

"I believe it, I believe it, Don Melchor."

"And if I were put to it," continued the old officer, in a louder tone, "I could count the masts of the frigates that pass the Ferrol."

"Draw it mild, Don Melchor," said a voice. There was a round of suppressed laughter in the dark, for Señor de las Cuevas inspired all the sea-folk with profound respect.

The old sailor turned his head angrily in the direction of the jeering remark, and, after silently trying to pierce the gloom, he said in a severe tone:

"If I knew who that was who said that I would chuck him into the sea."

Nobody dared say a word, nor was a sign of a smile seen, for it was well known in Sarrio that the Señor de las Cuevas was quite equal to fulfilling his threat.

He had served more than forty years in the navy, and had won the reputation of being a brave, punctilious officer; but his severity bordered on cruelty. When no commander of a ship exercised the old maritime laws, Don Melchor still strove to keep them in practise. It was told with horror in the town that a sailor was drowned through his making him pass three times under the keel according to the old punishment for certain transgressions; and more than a hundred men had been crippled by his blows, or had had the skin taken off their backs by his use of the rope.

However, there was no pilot or sailor who could be compared with him in his knowledge of all pertaining to the sea, the weather, ships, and all the secrets of navigation.

The little green light continued its slow approach until the form of the "Bella Paula" was visible to the naked eye, and, moreover, two or three black spots could be seen hovering around her from different sides. They were the pilot's launch and the auxiliary boats, ready to tow the ship when necessary. Sail was crowded on the ship, as there was scarcely any wind. However, it was too near the breakwater not to be dangerous. At least Don Melchor thought so, for he began to swear under his breath, and to seem uneasy. At last, no longer able to restrain himself, although he knew he was not within earshot, he cried out:

"Furl the maintopsail, Domingo! What are you waiting for?"

He had scarcely uttered these words when the almost imperceptible forms of the sailors were seen on the mastheads.

"We shall be all right now," exclaimed Don Melchor.

"Don Domingo would snap his finger at you," murmured the sailor who had incurred the old officer's wrath, under his breath.

The hulk of the ship, painted black, with a line of white on the upper decks, now stood out clearly from the dark background.

The eyes of the spectators, grown accustomed to the gloom, could discern perfectly all that was passing on board.

Two figures were on the quarter-deck, the captain and the coasting pilot, and at the bow stood the ship pilot.

"And the gaff-sail?" shouted Don Melchor again.

The sail of the mizzen-mast fell, as if in obedience to his voice. The wind was insufficient to fill the lower sails, and the canvas hung from the mast, limp and dilapidated as a draggled ball-dress. Soon all sails were furled and the ship was motionless until it slowly made way when taken in tow by the two boats. The figures of the rowers moved measuredly on the benches and the voices of the coxswains singing out, "Pull ahead; pull ahead!" broke the silence of the night.

But the rowers were so feeble in comparison to the bulk in tow that the ship made but slow way. When at the end of a quarter of an hour she managed to get some thirty lengths off the head of the mole, a rope was thrown from one of the boats on to the sea wall to help tack the ship.

"Captain, captain!" cried a stentorian voice from the crowd.

"What is it?" they replied from the ship.

"Is the Señorita de las Cuevas on board?"

"Yes."

"Then as long as the Señorita de las Cuevas is all right, all the rest may go to the devil."

The joke provoked much merriment in the crowd, until silence again reigned.

The ship now began to tack, being dragged ashore by the rope, which creaked with the tension of the hold; the people on the mole began talking with those on board, but they were silent and taciturn, being more concerned with the management of the ship than the questions directed to them. Then came a fresh ebullition of the jocose spirit of the sailors of the place, and fun was poked at those on board, more especially at a certain fellow who looked like a heap of skins, and whom they nicknamed Bruin, as he moved from one side to another with the awkwardness of a bear, handling the ropes and casting grunts of scorn at the crowd.

"I say, Bruin, you will be glad to have a dish of fish, eh?"

"Rejoice, O Bruin, for there is cider in Llandone's cellar."

"Is it hot in Norway?"

"Too hot for a rogue like you," growled Bruin, as he furled a sail.

This remark was received by the sailors with shouts of laughter.

"Keep clear," called the pilot from the quarter-deck.

"Hold there, on board!" returned the sailor who held the slack end of the rope.

The rope fell into the sea and dashed against the side of the ship. She was now close to the breakwater. The tide was not high enough to anchor by the old mole. The captain called out to the pilot:

"Sound."

The pilot said to the sailor at his side:

"Drop anchor."

The anchor fell into the sea with a strident sound of chains. Then the windlass was heard at work.

"Are you going to moor the ship, Domingo?" asked Don Melchor.

"Yes, señor," returned the captain.

"It is not necessary; you can warp ahead with two anchors. In an hour you will be able to get in."

"One way is as good as another for me," said the officer in a low voice, shrugging his shoulders, and then, in a loud tone, he added:

"Drop a second anchor," whereupon a second anchor fell into the sea with the same harsh sound as the first.

"How are you, uncle?" cried a clear boyish voice from the ship.

"Hello, Gonzalito! arrived all right, my boy?"

"Perfectly; here I come."

And with great agility the young fellow swung himself down by a rope into the boat.

"Let us go and meet him," said Don Rosendo, taking a step or two forward.

But Señor de las Cuevas caught the merchant by the arm and held him like a vise.

"Where are you going?"

"What is it?" asked the cod-merchant, in alarm. "Ah! it is true I did not recollect that this was the lower stage, the darkness--such a long time here, the dizziness from keeping one's eyes on the ship. My God! what would have become of me if you had not caught hold of me?"

"Nothing, you would only have been stunned on the stones below."

"Holy Virgin!" exclaimed Don Rosendo, turning dreadfully pale, while a cold sweat bathed his brow, and his legs trembled.

"Don't be alarmed at what is past and gone, but let us go down and meet Gonzalito!"

So they went to the end of the mole, where a manly, tall, red-haired, fine young fellow had just landed, dressed in a cloak which nearly reached down to his heels.

"Uncle!"

"Gonzalo!"

The two tall men then fell into each other's arms. Don Rosendo also received the young man with effusion. But he was so taken up with the narrow escape he had just had from losing his life, that he soon relapsed into his gloomy and melancholy mood, and he could hardly reply to the dock-yard master's questions as to the disposition of the captain's cargo.

They then started off to Don Melchor's house, which was situated in the highest part of the town, commanding an extensive view of the sea. During the walk Gonzalo left his uncle to go on in front, while he diffidently asked Don Rosendo a few questions about his family.

"How is Doña Paula? Is she as smiling as ever? And Pablo? Is he still as fond of horses? And Venturita? I suppose she has grown a big girl now?" Pause. "And Cecilia, is she well?" he finally asked abruptly.

But the Señor de Belinchon only gave monosyllabic answers to all these questions.

"Do you know, Gonzalo," he said, stopping suddenly, "that I might have killed myself just now?"

"How?"

He then gave a full account of the incident of the mole, and when the story was ended, he again relapsed into a state of profound melancholy.

"I suppose the family is in bed," said Gonzalo, after he had sufficiently sympathized (at least in his own opinion) with the late peril of the merchant.

"No, they are at the theatre--one never knows what may happen, eh?"

"So you've got a theatrical company here, eh?"

"Yes, for some days past. Do you know I thought I should have been killed, Gonzalo?"

"Tush! You might, perhaps, have broken a leg, or at the worst, a rib or two."

"Well, that would have been bad enough!" exclaimed the Señor de Belinchon, with a sigh.

By this time they had proceeded some distance into the town, and arriving at a certain street, Don Rosendo took leave of the uncle and nephew. He held out his hand in a sad way, saying:

"I must go and fetch my family from the theatre. Until to-morrow, and a good night's rest to you, Gonzalo."

"Until to-morrow--kind regards to all."

Then the Señor de las Cuevas and his nephew went on together to their house; and the traveler had to undergo a torrent of questions not relative to his visit to England, but concerning particulars of the voyage home.

"What wind did you have? Pretty blusterous, eh? I suppose it hardly sank once? The ship didn't pitch much, eh? She was well loaded. You never sailed with all that canvas, eh? You had to reef on leaving Liverpool, eh? I know the course well."

Gonzalo replied to the questions in an absent-minded manner, for he really hardly took them in, as he was walking along in a state of abstraction, with his head down.

"What is the matter, Gonzalito? You seem low-spirited."

"I? Bah! no, señor."

"I know you are."

They proceeded some distance in silence, and Don Melchor, striking his forehead, exclaimed:

"I know what it is!"

"What?"

"You are longing for the sea again. I have gone through just the same. I used to leap ashore after any voyage, and then I was seized with a fit of depression and a strong desire to return to the ship! This lasted two or three days, until I got accustomed to it. The fact is, I longed to get into port, but once there, I wished to be on board again. I don't know what there is so attractive in the sea, eh? That air so pure! The motion! The freedom! I know you are longing to return to the ship, eh?" he concluded, with a mischievous smile, to show his perspicacity.

"Bother it all! what I am longing for, uncle, is to go and see my sweetheart."

Don Melchor was dumfounded.

"Is that true?"

"Of course it is."

The Señor de las Cuevas reflected a minute, and then said:

"All right; perhaps you would like to go and meet her at the theatre? In the meanwhile I will go and see if Domingo has improved."

"How can he improve? He is a first-rate fellow," returned the youth, smiling.

The uncle, oblivious of the irony, looked at him with scorn.

"Get along! I see you return as silly as you went. I will wait supper for you."

"Don't wait for me, uncle," replied Gonzalo, already some distance off. "Perhaps I shall not want supper."

Then, without running, but with extraordinary swiftness, thanks to his unusually long legs, he strode through the streets, lighted here and there by oil lamps, in the direction of the theatre. Any one meeting him just then would have taken him for one of the many Englishmen who occasionally come to Sarrio on shipping business, to reconnoitre mining districts, or to start some industry. His colossal height and his stout, robust appearance are not characteristic features of the Spanish race, although one comes across them in the north; then that long coat, those double-soled boots, and strange-shaped hat denoted the foreigner. A glance at the face completed the illusion, for it was fair; and the long red beard, and blue, or, more properly called, azure eyes are almost always seen in the northern races.