"If you sail by a Cape liner, it's a short run, and after you leave the Spanish coast the sea is generally smooth," he said. "Since I must stay at the office, we must decide who is going with you."
Hyslop said he would like to go, and would do so if it were necessary, but to get away just then was awkward. Grace declared somebody must stop to look after Cartwright and the house, and she imagined this was her post. For all that, since she was older than Barbara, it was hard to see her duty. Mrs. Cartwright did not indicate whom she wanted, although she glanced at Barbara. Since she was ill she had got very languid, and Cartwright did not meddle. He knew his stepchildren, and it was characteristic that Grace talked about her duty; taking care of an invalid at a foreign hotel had not much charm for Grace.
"Very well," said Barbara, "I gave you and Mortimer first chance, because I'm not important, but since you have good grounds for staying, we won't argue." She turned to Mrs. Cartwright: "I'm going, because I want to go."
Mrs. Cartwright gave her a gentle smile and it was plain that she was satisfied, but when she had gone to bed and Cartwright was alone, he pondered. Barbara loved her mother and would have gone had she not wanted to go, but he thought she did want and had an object. He had told her something about his plans, and had stated that he would use Grand Canary as a supply depot for the expedition; then he had found the girl studying an Atlantic chart in the library. Barbara had no doubt noted the island lay conveniently near the African coast, and knew it was an important coaling station, at which steamers bound South from Liverpool called. Cartwright wondered whether she had argued she might see Lister at Grand Canary.
[CHAPTER XI]
[THE START]
Rain was falling and the light had hardly reached the opening between the tall warehouses. In the dock the water was smooth and shone with dull reflections, but the gates were open and the muddy swell the flood tide brought up the river splashed about the entrance. Ponderous lorries rumbled across a bridge, indistinct figures moved and shouted on the pierhead, and men in wet oilskins splashed about Terrier's deck.
She was a battered propeller tug and lay against the wall, with large cases of machinery lashed to her bulwarks, and a stack of coal built up beside the engine-skylights. Her bunkers were full, but the fuel she carried would not last very long, and coal is dear at foreign ports. Coils of thick wire rope and diving gear occupied her shallow hold, and Cartwright was annoyed because she could not take the massive centrifugal pump which he had sent by an African liner. Some extra coal and supplies were loaded on a clumsy wooden hulk, but he durst not risk her carrying expensive machinery.
When he talked to the captain in the pilot-house, he was, on the whole, satisfied. Brown's face was flushed and his voice was hoarse, but he would pull himself together after he got to sea. Cartwright knew Brown's habits when he gave him the job, although, in an important sense, the job was Lister's. To trust the young fellow was a bold experiment, but Cartwright did so. If Lister were not the man he thought, Cartwright imagined his control of the line would presently come to an inglorious end. To some extent this accounted for his bringing Barbara to see the salvage expedition start. He knew the power of love.
Barbara had not gone up the greasy ladder to the bridge and waited on deck. She had left home without much breakfast, in the dark, and was cold and rather depressed. All was gloomy and strangely flat. The tug looked small and was horribly dirty. Coal-dust covered rails and ropes; grimy drops from the rigging splashed on the trampled black mud on deck. The crew were not sober and their faces were black. Two or three draggled women called to them from the pierhead, their voices sounding melancholy and harsh.