Wyndham's Pal

by Harold Bindloss

Marston saw he must trust his luck and asked gruffly: "Que quiere?"

The man said they were coming to let go a schooner's rope but he might throw it down, and Marston dragged the heavy warp to the edge.

"Coje-le," he said in a hoarse voice and threw down the rope.

He imagined it fell upon the others' heads, for somebody said, "Mal rayo! Esta borracho."

Then the boat pulled away and Marston went on. If the fellows thought him drunk, so much the better. This would account for his brevity and uncouth accent. He wondered whether the shouting had excited the port-guards' curiosity, but although he stopped to listen he heard nothing.

By-and-by he got near the end of the mole and distinguished the repairing ship, which ran down obliquely to the water. The trees on the marina rose behind it, touched in places by the glow from two big electric lamps, and a blurred, dark mass cut against the illumination. This was, no doubt, the tug and he wondered, rather anxiously, whether the crew were on board. Stopping where the gloom was deepest, he looked carefully about.

The tug's bow rose high above him, but he doubted if the tide had left her stern. So far as he could feel with his feet, the stones were covered by broken shells, and he smelt paint. In the tropics, the bottom of an iron vessel soon gets crusted with shells and weed, and it looked as if the crew had scraped the boat. When the plates were clean they would paint her with red-oxide before applying the anti-fouling coat. It was important for him to find out which they had put on, because, since they could only work at low-water, this might mean a difference of a day or two in the time needed to finish the job. All the same, he could not take it for granted that she would be ready for sea when the last coat was dry. He understood her engines were being overhauled, and must ascertain if the work were done.

Marston moved lower down the inclined slip. The tug was a big propeller boat and rested, upright, on heavy shores. When he was level with the engine-room he saw a ladder against her side and his foot struck something that tinkled. Stooping down, he felt about and found a number of short tubes, some of which had torn ends. They had obviously come from the condenser, and re-tubing a condenser might be a long job. It looked as if he would have to get on board, but, to begin with, he had better see how far the men had gone with the painting.

He rubbed his hand along the plates. Although they were pretty smooth, this did not tell him much and he got no plainer hint when he used his nose. There was a strong smell of paint, but he could not tell if it was the priming coat, or the anti-fouling that would finish the work. Perhaps he could find the drum that had held the paint and he began to feel about as he moved down the slip. He had not gone far, however, when he trod on a piece of iron that tilted up and dropped with a sharp rattle. To continue the search might be dangerous and he stopped and listened.

All was quiet on board the tug; the trees on the marina tossed in the wind and the surf rumbled behind the mole. A clinking noise came up the harbor and Marston imagined the men whose rope he had thrown down were getting ready to go to sea at sunrise; vessels were not allowed to leave or enter port in the dark. This reminded Marston that it was some time since he had left Wyndham and they must reach the schooner before daybreak.