Part 12 (1/2)
There is, at this moment, a determined movement on foot on the mainland to replace me in power, and, with that object in view, efforts are being made to secure my escape from the convict settlement in which my enemies have imprisoned me. I and two faithful followers are here in hiding. My friend, Capitano Salvador De San Benavides,” and he bowed with much dignity toward the uniformed officer, ”came here two days ago in a felucca to warn me that a steamer would lie to about a mile south of the island to-night. The steamer's name is _Andros-y-Mela_--it is rather like the name of your unhappy vessel--so much alike that the _Andromeda_ has been sunk by mistake. That is all.”
c.o.ke, listening to this explanation with the virtuous wrath of a knave who discovers that he has been wrongfully suspected, bristled now with indignation.
”Oh, that's all, is it?” he cried sarcastically. ”No, sir, it ain't all, nor 'arf, nor quarter. Let me tell you that no crimson pirate on Gawd's earth can blow a British s.h.i.+p off the 'igh seas an' then do the dancin'-master act, with 'is 'and on 'is 'eart, an' say it was just a flamin' mistake. All! says you? Don't you believe it. There's a lot more to come yet, take my tip--a devil of a lot, or I'm the biggest lunatic within a ten-mile circle of w'ere I'm stannin', which is givin'
long odds to any other crank in the whole creation.”
And c.o.ke was right, though he little guessed then why he was so thoroughly justified in a.s.suming that he and the other survivors of the _Andromeda_ had not yet gone through half, or quarter, or more than a mere curtain-raising prelude to the strange human drama in which they were destined to be the chief actors.
CHAPTER VI
BETWEEN THE BRAZILIAN DEVIL AND THE DEEP ATLANTIC
There was an awkward pause. c.o.ke, rascal though he was, and pot-bellied withal, was no Falstaff. Rather did he suggest the present-day atavism of some robber baron of the Middle Ages, whose hectoring speech bubbled forth from a stout heart. But the ragged ex-President heeded him not. After a moment of placid scrutiny of his enraged countenance by those bright, watchful eyes, c.o.ke might have been non-existent so far as recognition of his outburst was apparent during the sonorous discussion that ensued between Dom Corria Antonio De Sylva and the Senor Capitano Salvador De San Benavides.
The latter, it is true, betrayed excitement. At first he favored Iris with a deprecatingly admiring glance, as one who would say, ”Dear lady, accept my profound regret and respectful homage.” But that phase quickly pa.s.sed. His leader was not a man to waste words, and the gallant captain's expressive face soon showed that he had grasped the essential facts. They did not please him. In fact, he was distinctly cowed, almost stunned, by his companion's revelations.
It fell to De Sylva to explain matters to his unexpected guests.
”My friend agrees with me that it is only fair that the exact position should be revealed to you,” he said, addressing c.o.ke, though a dignified gesture invited the others to share his confidence.
”It don't take much tellin',” began c.o.ke. De Sylva silenced him with an emphatic hand.
”Please attend. The situation is not so simple as you seem to imagine.
The loss of your s.h.i.+p cannot be dealt with here. It raises issues of international law which can only be settled by courts and governments.
You know, I suppose, that nothing will be done until a complaint is lodged by a British minister, and that hinges upon the very doubtful fact that you will ever again see your own country.”
The ex-President certainly had the knack of expressing himself clearly.
Those concluding words rang like a knell. They even called Watts back from the slumber of unconsciousness; the ”chief” stirred himself where he lay on the floor of the cavern, and began to quaver.
”----twelve old salts an' the skipper's la.s.s Marooned in the Spanish Main, O.
Sing hay----”
c.o.ke, taken by surprise, was unable to stop this warbling earlier. But his hand clutched Watts's shoulder, and his venomous whisper of ”Shut up, you ijjit!” was so unmistakable that the lyric ceased.
De Sylva seemed to be aware of some peculiarity in the symptoms of the wounded man's recovery, but he continued speaking in the same balanced tone.
”It happens, by idle chance, that my enemies have become yours. The men who destroyed your s.h.i.+p thought they were injuring me. I have just pointed out to Capitano De San Benavides the precise outcome of this attack. Until a few moments ago we shared the delusion that the troops on Fernando de Noronha believed we were now on our way to a Brazilian port. We were mistaken. More than that, we know now that they have obtained news--probably through a traitor to our cause--of the _Andros-y-Mela's_ voyage. They were prepared for her coming. They had made arrangements to receive her--almost at the place decided on by our friends in Brazil. It is more than likely that the _Andros-y-Mela_ is now lying under the guns of some coast fortress, since the presence of troops and cannon on this side of the island is unprecedented.”
”I don't see wot all this 'as to do with me,” blurted out c.o.ke determinedly.
”No. It would not concern you in the least if you were safe at sea.
But, since you are here, it does concern you most gravely. From one point of view, you served my cause well by preparing to lower a boat.
You misled my persecutors as to locality, at least. Of course, I saw you, and thought you were mad, but your action did help to conceal from the soldiers the secret of my true hiding-place. I wish to be candid with you. If my friends and I had realized that you were here by accident, we ought to have taken no steps to save you.”
”Really!” snarled c.o.ke, eying the unruffled Brazilian much as an Andulusian bull might glare at a picador. A buzz of angry whispering came from the crew. Even Iris flashed a disdainful glance at the man who uttered this atrocious sentiment. De Sylva raised his hand. He permitted himself the luxury of a wintry smile.