Kit Musgrave's Luck

by Harold Bindloss

One of the Berbers began to talk in an angry voice but they set off, and to start was some relief to Kit. Standing for his employer, he felt himself accountable for his party, and he had waited long enough. In fact, he wondered whether he had not waited too long, since the rising surf might force the launch to return to the ship. Now he was going, he wanted to go fast, but for a time did not. He was tired, the heat was enervating, and the path was rough. Big stones lay about the dry river bed, and the gaps were filled by soft sand, in which one's feet sank. Besides, it was prudent to use control. The others were obviously disturbed, and he must make an effort for calm.

For all that, when the sand began to blow down the wady his speed got faster. The dust stuck to his hot skin and gathered on his eyelashes. He could not see properly and his breath was laboured, but when a sailor in front began to run he kept up. He frankly did not want to be left behind. Perhaps it was imagination, but he began to feel as if somebody followed him.

Turning his head, he looked about. He saw big stones and clumps of tamarisk, but this was all. The dust might hide the Berbers' camels, and a camel travels faster than a tired man. The strange thing was, although he had gone up the wady to meet the Berbers, he now wanted to reach the launch before they arrived. Kit admitted he was not logical, but to know the launch might have gone bothered him.

At length the wady got wider, and peering through the dust-cloud, he saw the sea. The launch had not gone and the lifeboat was coming from the steamer. Kit thought this strange, since the launch would carry all, but perhaps Don Erminio had sent to find out why they had not returned. The surf was high and a man on board the launch stood up and waved his arms, as if he signalled the party to be quick. Then the dust got very thick and boats and surf vanished. Juan shouted, but Kit did not hear what he said. They were all running as fast as possible, slipping and stumbling across the stones.

They reached the open beach and the dust rolled by. For a few moments the view was clearer and Kit saw the man on the launch was not waving to him; he signalled to the lifeboat. Looking back, Kit understood. Camels were coming down the wady. Then the dust rolled up again and he saw nothing.

Breathing hard, he laboured across the beach. The sailors had paid out cable and the launch, with her bows to the breakers, tossed about in the surf. In a few moments he would reach her, but somebody behind seized him. He staggered and tried to turn; and then a sailor swerved and jumped. Kit saw the Spanish knife shine and next moment he was free. He plunged into the water and the launch's stern struck the sand close by. A broken sea rolled in and men jumped overboard. They carried oars and knives, for the baccalao fishers' quarrel with the Moors is old. Kit seized the launch's tiller, a thick bar of African oak.

Men with darker skins than the Spaniards were in the water, but so far as Kit could see, they did not shoot. It looked as if they meant to capture the party. Kit, however, could not see much. Dust and sand rolled across the beach and the spray was thick. The launch was half swamped and he thought the Berbers would hold her until the surf beat in her bilge. Long oars and stretchers swung, Miguel used an iron anchor-stock, and the mate, crouched like a cat on the stern, thrust with his knife. Perhaps the struggle had gone on for a minute when the white lifeboat rode in on a comber's top. She swung to her anchor and Don Erminio jumped overboard. To come ashore was not the captain's business, but Don Erminio was a sportsman.

For the next few moments the struggle was savage, but Kit did not know much about it. He was knocked down and washed against the lifeboat. His head hurt, he could not get on his feet, and the surf rolled him up and down the beach. Then, when he was going out with the backwash, somebody dragged him on board, and while he lay in the water under the thwarts he was dully conscious that the boat was off the beach. He knew this because she lurched violently, but did not strike the sand. Spray blew about and the tops of the seas splashed across the gunwale. She made slow progress and Kit thought all the oars were not manned.

Crawling aft under the rowers' feet, he seized a thwart and pulled himself up. Don Erminio lay on the sternsheets and groaned. His face was very white and his leg was not its proper shape. The launch laboured across the combers some distance off. Kit pushed a man from the tiller and told him to row. His head ached, but he could steer.

They were long pulling off to Mossamedes, and then were forced to wait for some minutes. She rolled, lifting her bilge-keels out of the water, and one must watch for a chance to hook on the tackles. At length a broken sea, smaller than the others, lifted the boat and Kit seized the swinging hook. The bowman was quick and got the other hook, a winch rattled, and the big boat went up. She struck the steamer's plates, but did not stop, and in a few moments the swivelling davits dropped her on the skids. Macallister and a steward lifted out the captain, and Kit went aft to see the launch hove up. Then he went to his room and for a time knew nothing more.