“No,” said I. “I have never been near it; nor have I ever seen a chart of it.”
“Of course you haven’t, sir,” answered my companion; “for the simple reason that the Spaniards won’t let a chart of it be made, for fear that it should get into an enemy’s hands. But I can tell you what it’s like, sir. It is about eight miles long, with a width varyin’ from four miles down to about one and a half. It is completely landlocked by the island of Tierra Bomba, that forms the seaward face of it, and there’s only one channel, called the Boca Chica, about half a cable’s length wide, by which a ship can get in or out. And just abreast the narrowest part of this here channel there’s a battery, called the San Fernando Battery, mounting twelve sixty-eight pounders. So, you see, sir, that cuttin’ a ship out of Cartagena harbour ain’t to be thought of.”
“Are there any other forts or batteries anywhere along the shores of the harbour?” asked I, my thoughts flitting back to our exploit at Abervrach.
“No, sir,” answered Hoard, in surprise at my question. “But you’d find the San Fernando more than enough, if you was to try to get in. They’re always on the watch, whenever there’s a craft headin’ for the harbour; and they won’t let her pass until the port cap’n have been off to her, and is satisfied that she’s all right.”
“Well,” said I, “I must have some clearer information than you have been able to give me. I must ascertain the precise date fixed for the sailing of the galleon; and I must have a look at Cartagena harbour, so that I may be able to judge for myself what will be the best mode of action. Now, how is this to be done?”
“Oh, sir,” answered Hoard, “so far as getting news is concerned, I’ll undertake to do that for you. I speak Spanish like a native, and contrived to make a friend or two here and there among the fishermen and porters and people of that class, in spite of the priests and the soldiers. There’s one man in particular, named Panza—I took the blame of something that he did one day, when he was a fellow-prisoner, and was flogged instead of him, he being at the time a’most dead with fever, he’s a fisherman, and lives in the little village of Albornos, some four miles out of Cartagena; he’ll do anything for me. He don’t know—nobody exceptin’ the prison authorities knows—that I was shipped off aboard the Magdalena; so all I’ve got to do is to get ashore and make my way to his hut, tellin’ him that I’ve escaped from prison—which God knows is the truth,—and he’ll hide me as long as I like to stay with him, and tell me all the news into the bargain.”
“Well, perhaps that might be managed—if you are not afraid to venture back among your enemies,” said I.
“Lord bless you, sir, I ain’t afraid! not a bit of it,” answered Hoard. “The priests and soldiers believes me to be aboard the Magdalena; so, as long as I keeps out of their sight—which I’ll take precious good care to do—I shall be all right.”
“Very well, then,” said I; “we can settle the details of your scheme later on. The next question is: How am I to get a view of Cartagena harbour?”
“Ah, sir! that’ll be a very difficult and dangerous matter,” was the reply. “And yet,” he continued correcting himself, “I don’t know but what it may be done without so very much risk a’ter all, if the weather is but favourable. But the only way that you could do it would be to land durin’ the night on Tierra Bomba, and remain on the island all day, viewin’ the harbour from the top of a hill that stands pretty nearly in the centre of the island. You’d have to conceal yourself among the bushes; and as there are very few people movin’ about on the island you’d not be so very likely to be seen. Then the boat ’ud have to come ashore for you next night; and the schooner ’ud have to be kept well in the offing during the daytime.”