When Jack set about making the necessary arrangements for the docking of the Thetis he at once found himself confronted with that adamantine procrastination which constitutes such a serious flaw in the Spanish character; mañana (to-morrow) is the word that is most often in the Spaniard’s mouth, and his invincible determination never to do to-day what can possibly be postponed until the morrow is perhaps as marked a national characteristic as is the indomitable pride of every Spaniard, from the highest grandee down to the meanest beggar to be found outside a church door. Thus, although the dock happened at that moment to be empty, Singleton found it absolutely impossible to infuse into the dock-officials the energy necessary to enable them to make arrangements for the entrance of the yacht on that day. Mañana was the word, wherever he turned; and mañana it had to be. And even when at length, late on the following day, the vessel was safely docked and the steam pumps started by which the water was to be pumped out of the enclosure and the vessel left dry and accessible to the workmen, it proved so exceedingly difficult to prevail upon these workmen to get to work that at length Jack and Milsom, driven to despair, and with their patience absolutely exhausted, were obliged to set their own people on to the job of removing from the ship’s bottom the thick growth of barnacles and sea grass with which it was encrusted, and afterwards to cover the steel plating with a fresh coating of anti-fouling composition. It was thus a full week from the date of the yacht’s arrival in Havana harbour ere she was once more afloat and ready for sea, and Jack at length felt himself free to fulfil his promise to rejoin the Montijo family at their hacienda.
Chapter Twelve.
Bad news.
It was a glorious morning when Jack, after an early breakfast, made his way to the railway station and, having written two days before to apprise his friends of his coming, demanded a first-class ticket for Pinar del Rio. He was gratified to find that not only were there no troops going by his train, but also that very few people were travelling by it, and that he was therefore likely to be able to secure a compartment to himself; for he found himself in a most unaccountable state of excitement at the prospect of meeting his friends once more, and was also acutely conscious of a desire to be absolutely alone in order that he might be free to picture to himself the precise manner in which “she” would be likely to receive him. There was also another reason why the young man was anxious to be alone during his journey, which was that, mingling curiously with the feeling of exhilaration resulting from pleasurable anticipation, there was a certain vague uneasiness, traceable to the fact that no word, either by telegram or letter, had come to him from any member of the Montijo family since he had said au revoir to them on that platform nine days ago. He had not had much time to dwell upon this fact while the yacht was in dock; indeed, he had been so exceedingly busy, and so dog-tired at the end of each day’s work, that it had scarcely obtruded itself upon his attention: but now he began to worry himself as to why it was that someone—by which he really meant Doña Isolda—had not been able to find time to drop him so much as two or three lines to say that they had arrived safely, and were hoping to see him soon. Of course, as he told himself, there was no very particular reason why anyone should have written so very vapid and commonplace a piece of intelligence as that they had arrived home safely, for it might be taken for granted that they had done so: the trains in Cuba travelled too slowly, and the traffic was too meagre, to admit of the possibility of an accident—and, moreover, there had been no news of any such thing; and, apart from an accident, there was absolutely no reason that Jack could think of why his friends should not reach their destination in safety. Yet this young man, usually so reasonable and level-headed, was now fast worrying himself into a fever because certain people had not done something which he constantly assured himself there was not the slightest need for them to have done. And when at length the train drew up at the platform of Pinar del Rio station, and he saw Señor Eugenio Calderon, Don Hermoso’s manager, waiting thereon, his heart sank, a momentary feeling of sickness and giddiness seized him, and as he reeled out of the carriage on to the platform he muttered to himself: “I knew it; I was certain that something was wrong!” Then he pulled himself together and turned to greet Señor Calderon as unconcernedly as might be.
“Well, Señor Calderon, how are you, and how are all at the hacienda?” he exclaimed. “Don Hermoso received my note, I suppose, and—?”
“Let us walk to the end of the platform, Señor,” replied Calderon, drawing him away out of earshot of the little crowd of alighting and embarking passengers. “I received your letter, Señor Singleton, and, in the absence of Don Hermoso, opened it, as I have opened all letters arriving for him since he left the hacienda. And when I had read it I came to the conclusion that it was my duty to meet you here upon your arrival; for, Señor, I can no longer hide from myself the fear that something untoward has befallen Don Hermoso and his family. I duly received the telegram which he dispatched to me from Havana, apprising me of his arrival there and his intention to return home that same day, and, as requested by the message, I dispatched the carriage here to meet the train by which he said he intended to travel; but on the following day the carriage returned to the house with the intelligence that neither Don Hermoso nor any of the family had arrived, either by the train indicated in the telegram, or by any subsequent train. From this I very naturally concluded that something had occurred to detain the party in Havana, and I looked, from day to day, for a letter or message of some kind explaining the delay; but nothing came, and when at length I received your letter, and gathered from it that you believed the family to be at home, I at once felt that something very wrong had happened, and came to the conclusion that the proper thing for me to do was to meet you here and inform you of all the circumstances.”
“Of course,” concurred Jack; “that certainly was the proper thing to do. But what can possibly have happened to them all? And why the dickens did you not write to me at once when the party failed to turn up?”
“I can see now that I ought to have done so,” said Calderon. “But you see, Señor,” he added in excuse; “I was constantly expecting to hear from Don Hermoso, explaining his absence and naming another day for his arrival; and in this condition of expectancy the days slipped away.”