Part 5 (1/2)

”And you, my Juan, what will you do in this Jamaica?”

The sense that we were approaching land was already all over the s.h.i.+p.

The second mate leered at me enigmatically, and moved slowly away.

I said that I was going to the Horton Estates, Rooksby's, to learn planting under a Mr. Macdonald, the agent. Carlos shrugged his shoulders. I suppose I had spoken with some animation.

”Ah,” he said, with his air of great wisdom and varied experience, of disillusionment, ”it will be much the same as it has been at your home--after the first days. Hard work and a great sameness.” He began to cough violently.

I said bitterly enough, ”Yes. It will be always the same with me. I shall never see life. You've seen all that there is to see, so I suppose you do not mind settling down with an old uncle in a palace.”

He answered suddenly, with a certain darkness of manner, ”That is as G.o.d wills. Who knows? Perhaps life, even in my uncle's palace, will not be so safe.”

The second mate was bearing down on us again.

I said jocularly, ”Why, when I get very tired of life at Horton Pen, I shall come to see you in your uncle's town.”

Carlos had another of his fits of coughing.

”After all, we are kinsmen. I dare say you would give me a bed,” I went on.

The second mate was quite close to us then.

Carlos looked at me with an expression of affection that a little shamed my lightness of tone:

”I love you much more than a kinsman, Juan,” he said. ”I wish you could come with me. I try to arrange it. Later, perhaps, I may be dead. I am very ill.”

He was undoubtedly ill. Campaigning in Spain, exposure in England in a rainy time, and then the ducking when we came on board, had done him no good. He looked moodily at the sea.

”I wish you could come. I will try------”

The mate had paused, and was listening quite unaffectedly, behind Carlos' back.

A moment after Carlos half turned and regarded him with a haughty stare.

He whistled and walked away.

Carlos muttered something that I did not catch about ”spies of that pestilent Irishman.” Then:

”I will not selfishly take you into any more dangers,” he said. ”But life on a sugar plantation is not fit for you.”

I felt glad and flattered that a personage so romantic should deem me a fit companion for himself. He went forward as if with some purpose.

Some days afterwards the second mate sent for me to his cabin. He had been on the sick list, and he was lying in his bunk, stripped to the waist, one arm and one leg touching the floor. He raised himself slowly when I came in, and spat. He had in a p.r.o.nounced degree the Nova Scotian peculiarities and accent, and after he had shaved, his face shone like polished leather.

”Hallo!” he said. ”See heeyur, young Kemp, does your neck just _itch_ to be stretched?”

I looked at him with mouth and eyes agape.

He spat again, and waved a claw towards the forward bulkhead.