Chapter Fifty Six.
Panama or Santiago?
It is the hour of setting the first night-watch, and the bells have been struck; not to summon any sailor from the forecastle, but intended only for the cabin and the ears of Captain Lantanas—lest the absence of the usual sound should awaken his suspicion, that all was not going right.
This night neither watch will be below, but all hands on deck, mates as foremast-men; and engaged in something besides the navigation of the vessel—in short, in destroying her! And, soon as the first shades of night descend over her, the crew is seen assembling by the manger-board close to the night-heads—all save the man who has charge of the steering, on this occasion Slush.
The muster by the manger-board is to take measures for carrying out their scheme of piracy and plunder, now on the eve of execution. The general plan is already understood by all; it but remains to settle some final details.
Considering the atrocity of their design, it is painful to see the first mate in their midst. A British sailor—to say nought of an old man-of-war’s man—better might have been expected of him. But he is there; and not only taking part with them, but apparently acting as their leader.
His speech too clearly proclaims him chief of the conspiring crew. His actions also, as they have ever been, since the day when he signified to Striker his intention to join them. After entering into the conspiracy, he has shown an assiduity to carry it out worthy of a better cause.
His first act was backing up Striker’s call for an equal division of the bounty. Holding the position of chief officer, this at once established his influence over the others; since increased by the zeal he has displayed—so that he now holds first place among the pirates, nearly all of them acknowledging, and submitting to, his authority.
If Edward Crozier could but see him now, and hear what he is saying, he would never more have faith in human being. Thinking of Carmen Montijo, the young officer has doubted women; witnessing the behaviour of Henry Blew, he might not only doubt man, but curse him.
Well for the recreant sailor, Crozier is not present in that conclave by the night-heads of the Condor. If he were, there would be speedy death to one he could not do otherwise than deem a traitor.
But the young officer is far away—a thousand miles of trackless ocean now between Condor and Crusader—little dreaming of the danger that threatens her to whom he has given heart, and promised hand; while Harry Blew is standing in the midst of ruffians plotting her ruin!
O man! O British sailor! where is your gratitude? What has become of your honour—your oath? The first gone; the second disregarded; the last broken!
Soon as together, the pirates enter upon discussion, the first question before them being about the place where they shall land.
Upon this point there is difference of opinion. Some are for going ashore at once, on a convenient part of the coast in sight; while others counsel running on till they enter Panama Bay.
At the head of those in favour of the latter is the chief mate, who gives his reasons thus:
“By runnin’ up into the Bay o’ Panyma, we’ll get closer to the town; an’ it’ll be easier to reach it after we’ve done the business we intend doin’, Panyma bein’ a seaport, an’ plenty o’ vessels sailin’ from it. After gettin’ there we’d be able to go every man his own way. Them as wants can cross over the Isthmus, an’ cut off on t’other side. An’ Panyma bein’ full o’ strangers goin’ to Californey, an’ returnin’ from it, we’d be less like to get noticed there. Whiles if we land on the coast here, where thar an’t no good-sized town, but only some bits o’ fishin’ villages, we’d be a marked lot—sartin to run a good chance o’ bein’ took up, an’ put into one o’ thar prisons. Just possible too, we might land on some part inhabited by wild Indyins, an’ lose not only the shinin’ stuff, but our scalps. I’ve heerd say thar’s the worst sort o’ savages livin’ on the coast ’long here. An’ supposin’ we meet neither Indyins nor whites, goin’ ashore in a wilderness covered wi’ woods, we might have trouble in makin’ our way out o’ them. Them thick forests o’ the tropics an’t so easy to travel through. I’ve know’d o’ sailors as got cast away, perishin’ in ’em afore they could reach any settlement. My advice, tharfore, shipmates, be, for us to take the barque on into the Bay; an’ when we’ve got near enough the port, to make sure o’ our bein’ able to reach it, then put in for the shore. Panyma Bay’s big enough to give us plenty choice o’ places for our purpose.”
“We’ve heard you out, Mr Blew,” rejoins Gomez, “Now, let me say in answer, you haven’t given a single reason for going by Panama Bay, that won’t stand good for doing the very opposite. But there’s one worth all, you haven’t mentioned, and it’s against you. While running up into the Bay, we’d be sure to meet other vessels coming out of it—scores of them. And supposing one should be a man-of-war—a British or American cruiser, say—and she takes it into her head to overhaul us; where would we be then?”
“An’ if they did,” returns Blew, “what need for us to be afeerd? Seein’ that the barque’s papers are all shipshape, they’d have to leave us as they found us. Let ’em overhaul, an’ be blowed!”
“They mightn’t leave us as they found us, for all that,” argues Gomez. “Just when they took it into their heads to board the barque, might be when we would be slipping out of her. How then? Besides, other ships would have the chance of spying us at that critical moment. As I’ve said, your other arguments are wrong; I’ll answer them in detail. But first, let me tell you all, I’ve got a pretty accurate knowledge of this coast. I ought to have, considering that I spent several years on and off it in a business which goes by the name of contraband. Now, all round the shores of Panama Bay there’s just the sort of wild forest-covered country Mr Blew talks about getting strayed in. We might land within twenty miles of that port, and yet not be able to reach it, without great difficulty. Danger, too, from the savages, our first officer seems so much afraid of. Whereas, by putting ashore anywhere along here, we won’t be far from the old Nicaraguan road, that runs all through the Isthmus. It will take us to the town of Panama; any that wish to go there. But there’s another town as big as it, and better for our purpose; one wherein we’ll be less likely to meet the unpleasant experience Mr Blew speaks of. It isn’t much of a place for prisons. I’m speaking of Santiago, the capital city of Veragua; which isn’t over a good day’s journey from the coast. And we can reach it by an easy road. Still that’s not the question of greatest importance. What most concerns us is the safety of the place when we get to it—and I can answer for Santiago. Unless customs have changed since I used to trifle away some time there—and people too—we’ll find some who’ll show us hospitality. With the money at our disposal—ay, a tenth part of it—I could buy up the alcalde of the town, and every judge in the province.”
“That’s the sort of town for us—and country too!” exclaim several voices. “Let’s steer for Santiago!”
“We’ll first have to put about,” explains Gomez, “and run along the coast, till we find a proper place for landing.”
“Yes,” rejoins Harry Blew, speaking satirically, and as if exasperated by the majority going against him. “An’ if we put about just now, we’ll stand a good chance of goin’ slap on them rocks on the port beam. Thar’s a line o’ breakers all along shore, far’s I can see. How’s a boat to be got through them? She’d be bilged to a sartinty.”
“There are breakers, as you say,” admits Gomez; “but their line doesn’t run continuous, as it appears to do. I remember several openings where a boat, or ship for that matter, may be safely got through. We must look out for one of them.”
“Vaya, camarados!” puts in Padilla, with a gesture of impatience. “We’re wasting time, which just now is valuable. Let’s have the barque about, and stand along the coast, as Gil Gomez proposes. I second his proposal; but, if you like, let it go to a vote.”
“No need; we all agree to it.”
“Ay; all of us.”
“Well, shipmates,” says Harry Blew, seeing himself obliged to give way, and conceding the point with apparent reluctance; “if ye’re all in favour o’ steerin’ up coast, I an’t goin’ to stand out against it. It be the same to me one way or t’other. Only I thought, an’ still think, we’d do better by runnin’ up toward Panyma.”
“No, no; Santiago’s the place for us. We’ve decided to go there.”
“Then to Santiago let’s go. An’ if the barque’s to be put about, I tell ye there’s no time to be lost. Otherways, we’ll go into them whitecaps, sure; the which would send this craft to Davy Jones sooner than we intend. If we’re smart about it, I dar say we can manage to scrape clear o’ them; the more likely, as the wind’s shifted, an’ is now off-shore. It’ll be a close shave, for all that.”
“Plenty of sea-room,” says the second mate. “But let’s about with her at once!”
“You see to it, Padilla!” directs Gomez, who, from his success in having his plan adopted in opposition to that of the Englishman, feels his influence increased so much, he may now take command.
The second mate starts aft, and going up to the helmsman, whispers a word in his ear.
Instantly the helm is put hard up, and the barque paying off, wears round from east to west-nor’-west. The sailors at the same time brace about her yards, and trim her sails for the changed course; executing the manoeuvre, not, as is usual, with a chorused chant, but silently, as if the ship were a spectre, and her crew but spectral shadows.