Leaves from a middy's log

by Arthur Lee Knight

There was now a dead silence, and the only sound that broke the stillness was the rush and plash of the cascade. Even this appeared to annoy the chieftain, for he called one of his followers to his side and gave him some directions in sharp, curt tones. The man saluted, and quickly disappeared around a corner of the cavern. After a minute or two had elapsed the sound of the falling water abruptly ceased. The stream had evidently been turned into another channel.

The chief now called up and interrogated the mule-driver, who had meanwhile slunk aside as if afraid of the reception he was likely to meet with from the perturbed leader of the gang.

How earnestly I wished at that moment that I had been acquainted with even a smattering of the Spanish language! Even Ned was a better scholar in this respect than I was, and I noticed that he bent forward eagerly to listen.

The mule-driver was evidently only too ready to be questioned, for he immediately stepped forward and launched out once more into the tale of his wrongs. The chief moodily listened, with bent brows and fingers toying idly with the butts of his silver-mounted pistols. Once or twice he glanced vindictively at my coxswain, but during the greater part of the rehearsal kept his sombre eyes fixed stonily on the cavern floor.

As for Ned, not a muscle of his face moved whilst the acting of this little drama was being carried out. His clear brown eyes were fixed intently on the speaker, though from time to time they rested for a moment on the strongly-marked features of the listening chieftain. I do not think I have mentioned before that my coxswain was a good-looking fellow of the best sailor type. His age at this time must have been about thirty-four or thirty-five, and though he was only of medium height, his build was that of a very active and athletic man. Beards were not in vogue in the navy at the time of my story, and as Ned had no personal fancy for whiskers, his face remained clean-shaven.

The mule-driver gradually worked himself up into a passion as he progressed in his second recital, and at the end thereof had recourse to a very dramatic proceeding; for as he wound up his long-winded peroration with many emphatic words, he tore off a light cotton jacket he was wearing, and exposed to view his bare shoulders, on which several weals were distinctly visible.

This action had the desired effect, as no doubt the wily mule-driver had foreseen. The inmates of the cave rose en masse to their feet in an excited manner, and shouted and yelled like a lot of maniacs. But, as had happened before, the chief did not at all approve of this hubbub, and promptly and indignantly quelled it. Doubtless he was afraid of his followers’ cries being heard outside the cave by unfriendly ears.

A sickly dread took possession of me. What was to be the next act in the drama? As to that, I was not long left in suspense.

The chief, as soon as quiet reigned again, summoned to his side the mule-driver and four of his own satellites. The result was a conference which did not last very long. At its conclusion the mule-driver looked perfectly radiant, not with genuine pleasure, but with gratified malice. He cut various capers on the sandy floor of the cave, and snapped his bony, yellow fingers at Ned Burton. Indeed, I do not know to what extremities he might not have gone if the chief had not sternly called him to order.

At a signal from that autocrat, six of his followers advanced quickly and in a determined manner towards Ned Burton, exchanging jocose remarks as they did so.