Juan de la Cruz was an elderly man with grey hair, and in figure thin and wiry. He was a good man at his duty, one of the silent Indians whom I have always found to be the best. A thorough sailor, he had served under many a flag, and sailed o’er many a sea, both in tropic and in northern climes.
The engine-driver and the stoker were brothers, strong and well-built young fellows, and smart at their work. The boy was an active lad, quite pleased to be employed on a steam-boat.
One day, the stoker, going through the blacksmith’s shop, saw a piece of square steel, which had been cut off a long bar, lying on the floor, and it struck him that it would be better than a hammer for breaking coal. So he annexed it without leave, and got one end drawn out and rounded so that he could easily hold it. This made a very efficient coal-breaker, the sharp edges divided the lumps with great ease. It was about eighteen inches long, and one and three-quarter inches square. The patron was married, and his wife lived in Manila, but, sailor-like, he had provided himself with a sweetheart, at the other end of his run, where he spent more time than in the Pasig, and had become intimate with a damsel of San Roque, a village between the Varadero and Cavite. Things went on apparently all right for some time; the launch making almost daily trips between Cañacao and Manila, and the elderly patron alternating between the conjugal domicile and the dwelling of his mistress. She was young, and, as native girls go, a pretty woman. Come of a strange and unknown mixture of races, and bred up amongst a community noted for its profligacy, she knew how to make the best use of her charms and was well fitted to captivate the weather-beaten seaman.
He, if not desirable in himself, held a well paid post, and was able to place her above want.
Already fifty years old, he was as susceptible as a youth and far more in earnest. Day by day, as he basked in her smiles, his infatuation increased till he became violently enamoured of his charmer.
What could be more natural than that the crew of the launch should become acquainted with the patron’s mistress? Soon the engine-driver and the stoker were her constant visitors. The damsel had a kind word and a smile for both, and doubtless contrasted their vigorous youth and shapely forms with the shrunken figure of her elderly protector, and their lively conversation with his glum silence.
In the end, no doubt, the damsel refused them nothing.
Trouble was now brewing. The grim sailor was not the man to let himself be wronged with impunity. All the elements of a tragedy were present. Things no longer went smoothly on board the Laguimanoc, and her voyages lost their regularity. Something was perpetually going wrong with the engines, pieces or fittings disappeared unaccountably, usually pieces of copper or brass. The engine-driver was blamed, but he succeeded in averting his impending discharge. Could he have foreseen the consequences of remaining, he would have promptly discharged himself.
On board the launch mutual distrust prevailed. The engine-driver must have known that it was the patron who had thrown overboard the fittings in his absence, hoping to get him discharged, but he held his peace.
The silent figure at the tiller made no sign; no trace of emotion could be seen on the Sphinx-like face, no reproaches passed his lips, not the slightest manifestation of resentment. But underneath that imperturbable calm there existed the steadfast determination to have a full and bloody revenge on all who had offended him. The Laguimanoc made a voyage to Manila one Saturday to take up the resident engineer who often spent his Sundays there, the launch remaining in the river. On Monday morning when he came down to the launch he found that the safety valve was missing from its seat, and was delayed till another could be procured.