“After that we were friends. Often they brought us fish, and just as often, Jaime gave them venison. It was on one of the trips to their camp on the shore with venison that we met Juan.”
“Juan?” Michael frowned. “I don’t remember him.”
“It was before you were born. We took the Indians meat and talked to them as they cooked it, but one man sat off by himself, staring at the sea. I asked who he was. ‘He is of another people,’ the Indians said.
“His nose was thinner, his skin a bit lighter, his eyes larger, but he was old, very, very old.”
“Another tribe?” Michael asked.
“Another people. But he was their friend. We started to ride away, knowing no more about him. He was walking back from the beach. Jaime pulled up and spoke to him. ‘You seem alone. Come to visit us whenever you wish.’”
“He replied, surprisingly, in English. ‘I will.’”
“Jaime waved at the hills, the far, unknown hills. ‘Perhaps you know about them. I would like to know the trails, the people, the villages, especially the places where no men go. It is a beautiful land.’ The old man listened, then walked on without speaking. Two weeks later he was sitting on the beach one morning when we came by.”
Chapter 2
*
CAPTAIN SEAN MULKERIN, of the two-masted schooner Lady Luck stood on the afterdeck staring at the scattered lights of the sleepy village of Acapulco. It was a straggling town of some three thousand people against an exciting backdrop of mountains and forest.
Tomorrow, at daylight, they would sail for home, and Sean Mulkerin was for once unhappy at the prospect. He had sailed south with too small a cargo and its sale had not gone well. Hides were a drug on the market and he had gotten rid of them for only a dollar and a half each instead of the expected two dollars.
They had done better with their furs, especially the otter pelts, but they would be lucky even to show a profit after expenses were deducted. He had hoped to bring home enough to pay off the loan on the ranch.
Owing to the depths of the harbor, a vessel could lie close in off the sandy beach, so the lights of the town were near. A few scattered houses and two cantinas still showed light, and there was another light at the Spanish fort that once guarded the harbor.
Two more vessels lay at anchor, one a ship newly arrived from Manila, the other a schooner, three-masted and considerably larger than the Lady Luck.
The night was hot and still with a feeling of impending change in the weather. Leaning on the rail he looked shoreward, an undefined longing inside him, a yearning for something that lay over there, something for him.
He had always felt this way in seaport towns, always looked at the lights reflecting upon the dark water and wondered who awaited him there, what loves, what adventures, what dreams…or perhaps death and a bloody dagger. A man never knew, and that was the thing. A man never knew.
Whichever way he turned there might be some haunting mystery, some enchantment. This way might lie love and fortune, and that way shame and death.
He straightened up, stretched, and turned away. He was starting for his cabin when a movement caught his attention.
Someone was running across the sand toward the water…it looked like…it was…a woman. As she reached the water’s edge she threw off her outer garment and plunged into the sea, swimming strongly.
Startled, he turned back to the rail, but could see nothing on the dark water. Once he thought he saw the flash of a white arm, and then ashore a door slammed and someone called out.
There was a shouted question, a reply, then a babble of excited yells, with men rushing back and forth.
Suddenly there was a faint splash right under the taffrail and a low voice called up to him. “Unless you wish me to drown, throw me a rope.”
It was a woman’s voice, and for an instant he was startled into stillness. Then he turned swiftly to the rope ladder that hung over the side amidships and shook it against the hull so she would hear. “This way!” he called softly, and she swam along the hull to the ladder.
She caught hold, began to climb clumsily, and a moment later he helped her over the rail. She shook her long hair, then started to wring the water from it. Her dress had been left behind and she stood in a soaking chemise and pantalets.
“Don’t stand there staring!” she said impatiently. “Get me a coat, or something, and then you’d better get away from here.”
“We aren’t sailing until morning,” Sean said, still stunned by the rapid movement of events.
“Take my advice and go now or you’ll find yourself in jail. My being here will take a lot of explaining.” She nodded toward the shore. “That pack of fools will find my dress and they will search every ship in the harbor.”
“That’s all I’d need!” he said, and turning sharply he called down the companionway. “Ten! Pedro! Congo! On deck!”
Ten Tennison was first on deck.
“Get the anchor in and enough canvas to move her. No lights. I want to move out as quietly as possible.”
He ran forward and shook out the jib and by the time he reached the fo’c’s’le two men were beside him and the schooner was already moving.
Tennison had taken the wheel. “Keep her stern to the town. The longer it takes them to realize we’re moving, the better.”
Pedro was sharp and quick and not the kind to waste time with questions. He could hear the tumult and shouting ashore and had no wish to be caught up in what was happening.
The breeze was slight, but the schooner was an easy sailer and took the wind nicely, gliding smoothly through the water. From the shore no perceptible movement could be seen unless someone watched the mastheads against a star.
“La Boca Chica,” Sean said, indicating the smaller of the two entrances.
The girl had disappeared and he was just as pleased, for he had no wish to answer the crew’s questions now. He swore softly, bitterly. The last thing they needed now was to have the schooner seized and her crew in prison.
Creating scarcely a ripple, the schooner slid through the three-hundred-yard gap between Point Pilar and Point Grifo and into the sea.
Outside there was a good bit of breeze. “Get everything we’ve got on her, Ten. We’ve got to run for it.”
When the canvas was aloft Ten came aft. “Thought you weren’t sailing until daybreak?” he said, quizzically.
With as few words as possible, Sean explained. Tennison was his mate, a fine sailorman who had begun his life on the coast of Maine, had fished the Grand Banks until he longed for broader, warmer seas, and had sailed out to China on the big tea ships.
“Who is she? Some jailbird?”
“Looks and talks like a lady, but I wouldn’t know. I just wish I’d never seen her and she hadn’t seen our schooner!”
The wind filled the sails, and the Lady Luck dipped her bows deeper, then rode up out of the water like the dainty ship she was, shaking the water from her. The wind was fair and she laid over a bit.
She was an easy craft to handle, and a fast one. Nothing on the coast could touch her unless it was that new schooner. It had more canvas.
“Keep her west by northwest, Ten. I’ll go below and see if I can find out what this is all about.”
He went down the companionway to the small cabin. She had crawled into a bunk, his bunk, and was fast asleep. Her wet clothing lay on the deck.
He stared at her and swore under his breath. Of all the damned fool…she was pretty, though. Too damned pretty!
No wonder they had chased her.
He turned the light low and returned to the deck.
Tennison grinned at him. “You didn’t stay long.”
“She’s asleep. What could I do, Ten? She swam out to the schooner and came up the ladder. They were hunting her ashore, and they’d never believe we weren’t involved somehow.”
“You done right. You’d no choice.”
“She’s got no wedding ring on her finger. I saw that much.”
He walked forward, trying to think the situation through. He could find no alternative to what he had done. Of course, he could immediately have called ashore and let them come and take her, which would have been neither gallant nor right. She was obviously not a thief. At least, he smiled wryly, dressed as she was she could not have carried much with her.
He had no choice but to do as he had done. But what if this brought more trouble to his family? I there was some place he could take her—.
There was no place.
The sea was picking up and Lady Luck was making good time. California was a long way from Acapulco, and even if they guessed that she had come aboard the Lady Luck there was small chance of them chasing her all that distance.
He had not planned to sail until daybreak, but who knew that? And he had no connection with her nor she with him, so it might be some time before anyone tied them together.
He walked aft again. “You’d better turn in,” Tennison said. “Use my bunk.”
He was tired. At four o’clock he must take over the watch from Tennison. Sean Mulkerin went below and dropped on Tennison’s bunk. He was asleep almost at once.
At four when he came on deck there was a strong sea running but the Lady was taking it gracefully, as always. The sky was overcast and the deck was wet from a recent shower.
Congo was at the wheel and Tennison was standing in the stern, looking back at the horizon.
“See anything?”
Tennison shrugged. “Thought I glimpsed a masthead back there but I was probably mistaken. Even so it might have been some ship headed up the Gulf for Mazatlán.”
It was not yet light although the sky was gray along the eastern horizon. With a glance at the canvas, all taut and shipshape, Sean walked to the wheel and glanced at the compass.
The run from Acapulco to Paradise Cove was something over fifteen hundred miles, two to three weeks sailing if all went well. If the wind held it could be somewhat less, but the sea had a way of making its own rules. Wind and wave could be understood but not predicted beyond a point. There was always the unexpected calm or the unexpected storm.
It was daylight when he took the wheel and he was still there when the girl came on deck.
She had contrived a dress from his serape and some pins, and looked incredibly lovely. Her skin was clear and olive-toned, and her hair black.
“I am Mariana de la Cruz,” she said, “and I wish to thank you.”
“I am Sean Mulkerin.”
“You are the captain? And Irish?”
“Yes. My mother is Irish, my father was Irish and Mexican.”
“Was?”
“He was killed about a year ago.”
“Have you seen anything?” Her eyes searched his. “I mean is anyone following us?”
“I doubt it. Were you expecting to be followed?”
She thought for a moment, her eyes wide and dark. Then she nodded, “Yes, I believe he will follow. Andres is a very determined man, and not at all a forgiving one.”
“Andres?”
“Andres Machado. I was to have married him today.”
Andres Machado! It would have to be him, of all people. A man fiercely proud, and a noted duelist and fighting man. Yes, he would certainly follow. Whether he wanted this girl or not he would never allow her to leave him.
“It was not my choice…the marriage, I mean. My father is dead, and Andres arranged it with my uncle. I refused him once, and he did not like that.
“We were to be married in Acapulco. Andres’ aunt and her maid were with us, and my uncle was to come down from our ranch. I hate Andres and I could not bear the thought of marrying him. Then I saw you in the plaza. Somebody mentioned who you were, and that you were going to be sailing back to California.
“When the maid turned down my bed, she left and I did not think she would be back. It was the only chance I had to escape so I ran out…and then she came back, probably to spy on me.”
Sean glanced at the compass and moved the wheel a spoke, scowling thoughtfully. He knew a good deal about Machado, and had even been friendly with him at one time. Their friendship ended abruptly when he had beaten Machado in a horse race, but he knew Machado well.
Andres came from a good family, but he was a spoiled and arrogant young man who would not be frustrated in anything and who could not accept defeat.
Would he follow them? Of course he would. No doubt about it, and doubly so since he, Sean Mulkerin, was the one involved. Machado would never believe that he had not known Mariana de la Cruz before, that this had not been contrived to make him look ridiculous.
The worst of it was that Machado could afford his whims, for he was as wealthy as he was politically powerful.
This was trouble, serious trouble, and at such a time when his family needed no more trouble than it already had.
Sean glanced astern. The horizon was clear, but at this height above the sea the visibility was only a few miles. People unaccustomed to the sea always imagined they could see very far indeed, but the distance to the horizon was simply calculated. One took the square root of the eye above the sea, multiplied it by 1.15 and had the approximate distance. If the height of the eye above the sea was nine feet one could see about three and one-half miles.
“Hilo,” he shouted to one of the men suddenly, “run aloft and take a look astern.”
Hilo, a Hawaiian, scrambled aloft, hesitated only a moment, then called, “A schooner, sir! Ten or twelve miles off!”
“A two-master?”
“Three, sir.”
“Thanks, Hilo.” He glanced at the sea ahead, calculating their chances. Machado had wasted no time. He swore to himself. Then, recalling that Mariana was standing there, he said, “Oh, I beg your pardon!”
“Captain, do not apologize. I am sorry. I had no idea—”
“No, you didn’t,” he agreed bluntly. “That schooner is undoubtedly the one that lay at anchor in the harbor at Acapulco, and she looked like a good sailer.”
“I have gotten you into trouble!” she said.
“I do not mind trouble,” he said, “but at this time trouble for me is trouble for my family. This schooner may soon be all we have. Nothing must happen to it.”
If his family were not waiting for him, he would have been tempted to run west for Hawaii, to lose them at sea. He knew many a trick, and if time was no object—
“I am sorry,” Mariana repeated.
“What’s done is done. Now we must see how we can get out of it.”
“Machado is a good friend to Micheltorena, the governor of California.”
“He would be.” Sean was in no mood for politeness. “Have you any more tidbits like that?”
“Only that he is no friend to Pio Pico or Alvarado.”
“They are friends of my mother and were friends of my father, but that does us no good now. Neither has the power of Micheltorena, nor of Machado, for that matter.”
He put the wheel over a few spokes, glancing at the sails. He would head more westerly, try to edge away from the sailing routes to San Diego and points north. He would head for the open sea.
All day long they scudded over the sea, a gray-green sea studded with whitecaps. Several times he sent a man aloft and at the last report the other schooner was still headed northwest. If they had been seen, the big schooner was not responding.
At supper in the cabin he sat alone with Mariana and put his worries aside. He talked quietly of California, of his brother and his mother, and of Los Angeles, the tiny pueblo toward which they were sailing. He spoke mostly of the Señora. “She rules us,” he said, smiling a little, “and she is usually right. But you will like her and you can stay with us as long as we have a roof over our heads.” He grinned wryly. “Which may not be long.”
“Hadn’t you better think about that? You’ll have more time for thinking now than when we’re ashore.”
At midnight he returned to the deck, took a sighting on a star, then turned in. Tennison sent Congo for him at four in
the morning.
Tennison returned to the deck after breakfast and the sea was empty. From the masthead they could see nothing.
Chapter 3
*
FROM THE STARBOARD bow Captain Sean Mulkerin looked toward the California coast which lay just over the horizon. The big schooner would be over there, beating up the coast, perhaps sailing a little slower to check the coves for hiding places.
Sean knew he was postponing the inevitable. Machado was a shrewd man, and he might sail right on to San Pedro and make contact with the authorities in Los Angeles.
A cold wind was blowing on this morning, and the sea was choppy.
At twenty-two Sean Mulkerin was a veteran of several years at sea. Born on the ranch at Malibu he had grown up herding cattle, hunting and wandering in the mountains, breaking wild horses, and sailing to the Channel Islands with the Chumash.
At fourteen he made his first voyage with his father. They sailed down the coast to Mazatlán, Acapulco, and Tehuantepec. His second voyage, later the same year, was to Panama, Callao, and Valparaiso. Another six months ashore and he was back at sea again, now grown to his full height of five feet and ten inches. This voyage took him to Hawaii, Shanghai, Macao, and Taku Bar. The ship had started for home when it reached Taku Bar and word of rich cargoes in the Moluccas turned them back. From there they had sailed to Samoa and Tahiti before returning home.
At sixteen Sean weighed one hundred and eighty pounds. Between the hard work on the ranch and at sea he had grown tough and strong. And at eighteen made his first trip as mate. By that time he was a veteran of dozens of brawls in as many ports.
The frequent wars and rebellions in Latin America had spawned a number of privateers sailing under letters of marque from one country or another, most of them with European crews prepared to attack any likely looking ship, whether an enemy vessel or not.
Novel 1974 - The Californios (v5.0) Page 2
