“Ah, my boy, I was just trying you,” Mr. Ysnard laughed, giving Kit a hearty clap on the shoulder. “I am glad to see that you are not to be tempted. That is just what we want to avoid, the landing of such smuggled cases, for they get both the ship and the agent into a lot of trouble. I suppose the Captain sent you ashore because he was sure he could trust you.
“There is always room for bright young fellows who can be trusted,” he added; “in fact, I could make room in my own business for a young American of about your age. How would you like to leave the ship and make more money in Sisal?”
The question came so suddenly that it almost staggered Kit; but he soon made up his mind how to answer.
“I think it is very pleasant here, sir,” he said, “but I don’t believe in changing. I have a good start on the ship, and don’t think I ought to leave it; but I am very much obliged to you, sir, for the offer.”
When he went out in the morning, he saw that the Gulf was almost white; partly with foam, and partly from the white sand that was stirred up from the bottom. Tremendous seas were breaking over the mole, and great sheets of spray were flying over several of the warehouses.
The norther prophets were right in saying that the norther would last for three days. Every night Kit went home with Mr. Ysnard, but without meeting his wife, as she was an invalid and seldom left her room. On the fourth day the dark clouds drifted gradually away, the wind lulled, and the tropical sun shone hot again. About noon he was delighted to see the North Cape steam back to her old place and drop her anchor.
“But you’ll not get out to her for a day or two yet,” Mr. Ysnard told him; “no small boat could go out till this heavy sea subsides. I am going into the country in a few minutes to see how much my plantations have suffered, and if you like, you can go along and learn something about this hemp you are going to be loaded with.”
The carriage came early that day, and they were soon driving between broad fields of cactus plants.
“That’s the stuff,” Mr. Ysnard told him; “it is the leaves of this cactus that yield the hemp. You see some of the leaves are six feet long and four or five inches broad. We cut off the leaves and soak them in water, then run them through a machine that extracts the fibre. That fibre is the hemp. Another machine cleans and straightens it, and we dry it and press it into bales, and it is ready to go north to be made into ropes and matting. Now you know something about the cargo you are to carry.
“But you have no idea,” he continued, “of the condition of the workmen who raise this hemp. We call them peons, and on most of the plantations they are little better than slaves, though I am glad to say that it is not so on mine. In this country a peon cannot leave the land he belongs on while he is in debt to his master; and as they earn only about twelve and one-half cents a day they are always in debt. A son is responsible also for his father’s debts, so they are practically slaves, with no chance of ever freeing themselves. It is a terrible system.”