His first act was backing up Striker’s call for an equal division of the bounty. Holding the position of chief officer, this at once established his influence over the others; since increased by the zeal he has displayed—so that he now holds first place among the pirates, nearly all of them acknowledging, and submitting to, his authority.
If Edward Crozier could but see him now, and hear what he is saying, he would never more have faith in human being. Thinking of Carmen Montijo, the young officer has doubted women; witnessing the behaviour of Henry Blew, he might not only doubt man, but curse him.
Well for the recreant sailor, Crozier is not present in that conclave by the night-heads of the Condor. If he were, there would be speedy death to one he could not do otherwise than deem a traitor.
But the young officer is far away—a thousand miles of trackless ocean now between Condor and Crusader—little dreaming of the danger that threatens her to whom he has given heart, and promised hand; while Harry Blew is standing in the midst of ruffians plotting her ruin!
O man! O British sailor! where is your gratitude? What has become of your honour—your oath? The first gone; the second disregarded; the last broken!
Soon as together, the pirates enter upon discussion, the first question before them being about the place where they shall land.
Upon this point there is difference of opinion. Some are for going ashore at once, on a convenient part of the coast in sight; while others counsel running on till they enter Panama Bay.
At the head of those in favour of the latter is the chief mate, who gives his reasons thus:
“By runnin’ up into the Bay o’ Panyma, we’ll get closer to the town; an’ it’ll be easier to reach it after we’ve done the business we intend doin’, Panyma bein’ a seaport, an’ plenty o’ vessels sailin’ from it. After gettin’ there we’d be able to go every man his own way. Them as wants can cross over the Isthmus, an’ cut off on t’other side. An’ Panyma bein’ full o’ strangers goin’ to Californey, an’ returnin’ from it, we’d be less like to get noticed there. Whiles if we land on the coast here, where thar an’t no good-sized town, but only some bits o’ fishin’ villages, we’d be a marked lot—sartin to run a good chance o’ bein’ took up, an’ put into one o’ thar prisons. Just possible too, we might land on some part inhabited by wild Indyins, an’ lose not only the shinin’ stuff, but our scalps. I’ve heerd say thar’s the worst sort o’ savages livin’ on the coast ’long here. An’ supposin’ we meet neither Indyins nor whites, goin’ ashore in a wilderness covered wi’ woods, we might have trouble in makin’ our way out o’ them. Them thick forests o’ the tropics an’t so easy to travel through. I’ve know’d o’ sailors as got cast away, perishin’ in ’em afore they could reach any settlement. My advice, tharfore, shipmates, be, for us to take the barque on into the Bay; an’ when we’ve got near enough the port, to make sure o’ our bein’ able to reach it, then put in for the shore. Panyma Bay’s big enough to give us plenty choice o’ places for our purpose.”
“We’ve heard you out, Mr Blew,” rejoins Gomez, “Now, let me say in answer, you haven’t given a single reason for going by Panama Bay, that won’t stand good for doing the very opposite. But there’s one worth all, you haven’t mentioned, and it’s against you. While running up into the Bay, we’d be sure to meet other vessels coming out of it—scores of them. And supposing one should be a man-of-war—a British or American cruiser, say—and she takes it into her head to overhaul us; where would we be then?”