“About there,” he said, indicating a point on the surface of the bay eastward of the canoe. His right arm was extended, and he placed his left hand on her shoulder. Courtenay, hailing Walker, saw the two leaning over the rails in that attitude. Perhaps one of the two hoped that Courtenay would see them. Elsie, as part of her punishment, did not shrink away, though the touch of Christobal’s hand made her flesh creep. But Joey, whose mind was singularly free from complexities, leaped up at her. He wanted Elsie to tell him what Courtenay was doing out there, so far away from the ship. She stooped and picked him up. Christobal had no excuse for a second caress.
“Bark, Joey,” she whispered, “bark and call your master. If anything happens to him, you and I shall never see England again. And I am longing for home to-day.”
CHAPTER XIII.
THE FIGHT
Christmas Day arrived, and maintained its kindly repute by finding affairs on board the Kansas changed for the better. Mr. Boyle was so far recovered that he could walk; he even took command of two watches in the twenty-four hours, but was forbidden to exert himself, lest the wound in his back should reopen. Several injured sailors and firemen were convalescent; the two most serious cases were out of danger; Frascuelo, hardy as a weed, dared the risk of using his damaged leg, and survived, though his progress along the deck was painful. Nevertheless, on Christmas morning he presented himself before the captain, and asked leave to abandon his present quarters. He felt lonely in the forecastle, and wished to berth with the other Chileans in the neighborhood of the saloon. Although his luck was bad in some respects, the coal-trimmer was endowed with the nine lives of a cat, for there could be no manner of doubt that he dragged himself aft just in time to avoid being killed.
Yet, never was day less ominous in appearance. The breezy, sunlit morning brought no hint of coming tragedy. The fine weather which had prevailed since the Kansas drifted into the estuary seemed to become more settled as the month wore. Suarez said it was unprecedented. Not only had he not witnessed in five years three consecutive days without rain, snow, or hail, but the Indians had a proverb: “Who so-ever sees fire-in-the-sky (the sun) for seven days shall see the leaf red a hundred times.” In effect, centenarians were needed to bear testimony to a week’s fine weather; whereas no man—most certainly no woman—among the Alaculofs ever succeeded in reaching the threescore years and ten regarded by the psalmist as the span of life.
But the miner from Argentina never wavered in his belief that the Indians would soon muster every adult for an assault on the ship. The elements might waver, but not the hate of the savage. From the rising of the sun to the going down thereof Suarez was ever on the alert. He ate his meals with his eyes fixed on the low point of land which hid Otter Creek. He saw thin columns of smoke rising when no other eye on board could discern them. Once he made out the forms of a number of women searching for shellfish on some distant rocks at low water, and on Christmas morning he reported the presence of three canoes among the trees near Otter Creek, when Courtenay could scarce be sure of their character after scrutinizing them through his glasses.
Every other person on the ship held the opinion that the Alaculofs would attack by night, if they were not afraid to attempt the enterprise at all. So Suarez slept soundly, while his companions were on the qui vive for a call to repel boarders. Were it not for the strain induced by the silent menace of their savage neighbors, the small company suffered no ill from their prolonged stay in this peaceful anchorage. There was work in plenty for all hands. Walker was re-enforced by a trio of firemen, whose technical knowledge, slight as it was, proved useful when he began to fit and connect the disabled machinery. For the rest, the promenade deck was walled with strong canvas, while Courtenay and Tollemache gave undivided attention to the fashioning of several other floating bombs which could be exploded from the ship. They also provided flexible steam-pipes in places where a rush might be made if the Indians once secured a footing on the deck, fore or aft. Steam was kept up constantly in the donkey-boiler, not alone for the electric light and the daily working of the pumps—as the Kansas had not blundered over the shoal without straining some of her plates—but for use against the naked bodies of their possible assailants.
When day followed day without any sign of hostility, not a man on board, save Suarez and Tollemache, paid much real heed to the shoreward peril. Walker, with his hammers and cold chisels, his screw-jacks and wrenches, was the center of interest. And Walker’s swarthy visage wore a permanent grin, which presaged well for the fulfilment of his promise. Elsie devoted herself to the hospital. She was thus brought more in contact with Christobal than with any of the others. Nor did he make this close acquaintance irksome to her. Always suave and charming in manner, he exerted himself to be entertaining. Though she knew full well that if the Kansas reached the open sea again he would ask her to marry him, he was evidently content to deny himself the privileges of courtship until a proper time and season.
She was far too wise to appear to avoid Courtenay. Indeed, she was studiously agreeable to him when they met. She adopted the safe role of good-fellowship, flattering herself that her own folly would shrink to nothingness under the hourly castigation thus inflicted. During this period, Mr. Boyle’s changeable characteristics puzzled and amused her. As he grew stronger, and took part in the active life of the ship, so did his sudden excess of talkativeness disappear. Once she happened to overhear his remarks to a couple of Chileans who were told to swab off the decks. Obviously, they had scamped their work, and Boyle expostulated. Then she grasped the essential element in Boyle’s composition. He was capable only of a single idea. When he was chief officer he ceased to be an ordinary man; the corollary was, of course, that he ceased to use ordinary language.
She was in her cabin, and dared not come out while the tornado raged. She did not know that Tollemache was listening, too, until she heard him ask: