He made it his habit to preach little sermons at odd times of the day. One morning before breakfast he held forth on the dangers of blasphemy, warning us that the road to Hell, a very broad, populous highway, was paved with ‘O God’s’ and ‘By Our Lady’s’ vainly uttered; and said that if an officer heard any such expression fall from a sailor’s or soldier’s lips he was to reprimand him gravely and, if the offence was repeated, bring him up for summary punishment. ‘Carajo!’ I heard Matia mutter under his moustache, ‘so our ration of oaths is to be halved too!’
The comments made by the Boatswain’s mate on the slovenliness of the soldiers, though uncalled for, seem to have stirred Don Alvaro. He notified the high officers that he would inspect their troops every evening and watch them put through platoon drill; he trusted that their appearance would be as clean and soldierly as if they were expecting a visit from His Majesty in person. Every Saturday afternoon, and on the eve of every important festival, he had the ship dressed with flags and pendants while our musicians dispensed solemn music and the pages sang anthems under his own direction. Nor was this all: because the troops looked down upon the sailors he read them a lesson in humility by enrolling himself in the Boatswain’s watch and sharing in all the most menial and laborious tasks. He was to be seen swabbing the deck, his habit girded up to his waist and his pitifully thin, white legs showing bare underneath, or perched astride a yard high aloft, helping to set an obstinate topsail. The soldiers thought him demented, the sailors found little to admire in his unhandy efforts, the high officers appeared to despise him. Doña Ysabel was too well-bred to rebuke him publicly for making a laughing-stock of himself, and must have known that to do so would only have encouraged him in his stiff-necked humility; but it is my belief that she hated him for the shame he caused her, and that nothing kept her nails from his cheeks, but the title and riches which she hoped to win by being his wife and sole heiress.
One Friday at noon the Admiral sent a message by his pilot, saying that he would esteem it a great kindness if the General could spare him a boat-load of fire-wood; the Santa Ysabel’s supplies were exhausted and the soldiers burned whatever they could lay their hands on—spare masts and yards, chests and boxes, and even parts of the upper works. Don Alvaro sent the wood at once, together with a Christian message of love, which encouraged the Admiral to resume his interrupted Sunday visits. When, two days later, his skiff was seen approaching the flagship, Don Lorenzo and Don Diego immediately went to fetch Doña Mariana from the Great Cabin and, with brotherly solicitude, escorted her to the forecastle head, where they detained her in conversation until he had gone. The Colonel, on the other hand, greeted him warmly, offered him wine, and did all he could to show that he regretted the incident at Cherrepé; but the Admiral, though pressing his hand in gratitude, would not be cheered.
It was not hard to divine the reason for his deep despondency, namely that Father Joaquin, his own priest, had at last taken courage and refused him holy communion unless he put away the sergeant’s wife. So much had already been told me in confidence by Pedro Fernandez, who got it from the pilot of the Santa Ysabel; the latest news was that the woman, finding herself shunned and hated by everyone but her protector, had fallen ill and in her extremity called for the priest to whom she confessed her adulteries, promising to reform her ways. Father Joaquin accepted her penitence and gave her absolution; but she was still not welcomed by her former friends of the between-decks and, with no one to nurse her, now lay at the point of death. Don Lope felt wounded in his honour, but his officers gave him no sympathy and he was too proud to make overtures of peace to the Barretos. In his interview with Don Alvaro, also, he made no mention of his private sorrows, though he complained bitterly of the anxieties attendant on his command. He had brought with him the master of the Santa Ysabel, to testify that he was not painting his picture in more dismal colours than truth required.
Don Alvaro beamed cheerfully at him, and cried: ‘Courage, my friend! The faster we sail, the sooner will our troubles be over. Clap on more sail, man, and let your galleon prove that she has as fleet a pair of heels as the San Geronimo.’
The Admiral thrust the master forward, who explained at length (and Don Alvaro had already been told of this by the Chief Pilot) that the Santa Ysabel was very crank for lack of lead ballast, which until recently had been somewhat compensated by the weight of water and provisions in her hold; but these were now depleted and he dared not trust her under full sail. ‘She has a thousand defects,’ he continued. ‘She’s as wilful as a spoilt child and as obstinate as a pack mule.’
At this the Admiral began to weep, a thing that I should never have believed possible in so bold and lively a nobleman, and begged Don Alvaro not to let the flotilla part company with his ship. ‘I never made a worse bargain in my life,’ he said in a broken voice, ‘than the day I exchanged the old Santa Ysabel for the present one; and I must humbly beg your Excellency’s pardon for not having listened to your advice when you bade me be content with what I had. I grieve most for the unfortunate settlers whom I myself enlisted; should the ship capsize one dark and windy night and they drown, I would not attempt to save my life, but stay at my post and be sucked down with them.’
‘Dry your tears, brother-in-law,’ said Don Alvaro, ‘and have faith in the all-seeing eye of divine Providence, for the Isles cannot be far off. If your ship is somewhat crank, that can easily be remedied. Fill your spare casks and barrels with sea water and you will soon have her in trim.’
‘Alas, your Excellency, we have no barrels left, and the casks leak; they are warped from having stood empty so long.’
‘A sad neglect! You should have sluiced them every day to keep the seams tight.’
‘I did not wish to foul them with salt water, and fresh we could not afford.’
‘And why not?’
‘Only a hundred casks were left when we anchored off Santa Cristina. Today, God be my witness, we are down to nine.’
‘To nine? A thousand red devils! You must be mistaken—how have you contrived to waste so much water? You left Paita with the same amount as we, and your ship is smaller than ours.’
The Admiral, making a noble effort, recovered his self-possession: ‘Your Excellency forgets that the Santa Ysabel’s complement is one hundred and eighty-two persons of both sexes; yours, only one hundred and twenty. Sixty extra rations of water amount to a great deal in three and a half months.’
‘How three and a half months? You had the opportunity to replenish your casks at Santa Cristina.’
‘Those that were still sound; but because of their larger numbers, my people had drunk far more than yours on the way, and therefore, do you see, we had emptied far more casks, and therefore far more had become unserviceable from disuse.’
‘And you never thought of engaging a cooper to repair them?’
‘There were three coopers with us when we sailed from Callao; now we have none.’
‘You are mistaken, or why have their deaths not been reported to me?’
‘They are still alive and plying their trade, so far as I know. You yourself turned them out at Cherrepé on a charge of immorality.’
‘Ah, yes, I remember. Yes, that is so. And would you have had me keep them, to our souls’ ruin? It is a true saying that one rotten apple will spoil the barrel.’
‘But three coopers can repair a thousand spoilt barrels.’
‘That remark is impertinent and unworthy of a Christian. Well, if you could not replenish the warped casks with water at Santa Cristina, you should have filled them with ballast.’
‘They had already been broken up for fuel. You have no more than one hundred and twenty mouths; to provide soup for one hundred and eighty needs half as much fire-wood again.’
‘O Don Lope, Don Lope, why did you not inform me of this earlier? I would have found a remedy.’
‘I reported it to your Excellency three times, at intervals of ten days; on each occasion I was assured that we should soon sigh
t the Isles and told to put my trust in God. Come now, Don Alvaro, to the point: will you of your charity give me twenty casks of water to moisten the throats of my people?’
Since the General knew that despite the wastage we still had four hundred casks or jars in our hold, ‘yes’ was on the tip of his tongue; but Doña Ysabel entered, and he reined himself in. Assuming a grave and portentous expression, he answered: ‘Don Lope, I cannot assent. You have neglected your duty and must suffer the consequences.’
‘Do you wish to sign my death warrant?’
‘I have no notion what you mean, friend,’ said Don Alvaro, reaching for his beads, ‘nor do I intend to enquire.’
‘May God forgive you and grant you better understanding before it be too late! My lord General, I bid you farewell.’ He retired with a bow and a look of resignation, not unmixed with reproach.
‘What did the knave want?’ Doña Ysabel asked.
‘Water, my love. He claimed to be nearly at the end of his resources.’
‘You refused him water? But he has women and little children aboard.’
‘He owns to having nine casks left. They will not go thirsty for a while.’
‘In the Virgin’s name! Women and children cannot sail the ship when everyone else has died of thirst. And why punish the whole company for the fault of their commander?’
‘I cannot believe the Admiral. He is acting a part and has overplayed it with his tears and entreaties. Aware of your righteous anger against him, he now tries to trick us. He begs me not to abandon his ship, as though such a thought had ever entered my head. This can mean only that he has decided to run off when we approach our destination; perhaps the Vicar had wind of the plot when he warned us against landing on San Bernardo. Ships commanded by insubordinate officers have often deserted their flotillas. Did not the San Lesmes desert Loaysa on the expedition through the Straits of Magellan? Did not the Santiago and Sanctus Spiritus give Saavedra the slip in mid-Pacific? And did not Pedro Sarmiento try to steal the Todos Santos from me when I returned from the Isles of Solomon? You may be sure that the Admiral has far more water than he admits, though perhaps not enough to sustain his mutinous intention. I did well to harden my heart to his tears.’
Doña Ysabel considered. ‘You are playing a dangerous game,’ she said. ‘It seems to me that you should go to the Santa Ysabel yourself to see how serious the situation may be, and if you find more water than he owns to possessing, arrest him. But beware of setting his officers against you; if things are left as they are, you will be suspected either of cruelty or of weakness.’
‘I disagree at every point,’ he said stubbornly. ‘My refusal compels the Admiral to keep up with the flotilla; his ship is not so lame a duck as her master makes out. He too lied, to bolster the Admiral’s pretences. As soon as his officers become aware of true distress on board the Santa Ysabel they will come to me; and I will give them satisfaction.’ He took up his beads again to forestall further argument; in truth, he combined a dove’s purity with the guile of a serpent.
When Doña Mariana learned of her husband’s tragical farewell, she went on her knees before Don Alvaro and besought him to show a little Christian charity; but when she found that she could not soften his heart she said many vindictive things to which he listened with the look of a martyr. Then she turned sullen, and not all Doña Ysabel’s lively rallyings could restore her natural good-humour.
The next day at noon when the Admiral’s pilot came aboard, he begged Pedro Fernandez for a drink of water, complaining that he had gone without for twelve hours, and begged him to report the matter where it might best be remedied. Pedro Fernandez found Don Alvaro in a black mood. ‘The trick is too clumsy to deceive us,’ said he. ‘Tell the pilot that in future we do not expect him to attend these conferences, which only waste our sailing time; he is to follow our pendant by day, and our lantern by night.’
Soon after this Doña Mariana fell into deep disgrace, her brothers treating her as though she had betrayed them. To judge from a hint that Don Diego let fall, she had for some time been in secret communication with her husband, the pilot acting as messenger, and planned to escape to him in the skiff; but the plot was now discovered. Certain it is that one of our apprentices was flogged until he fainted, and then flogged again, for a fault, not made public, that rumour named sodomy; I believe, rather, that he was the accomplice who should have stolen the skiff for her.
***
On the 7th of September the wind blew fresh from the south-east; but the San Geronimo made little way, carrying only her foresail without even a bonnet, because the Chief Pilot feared to draw away from the Santa Ysabel and thus tempt her master to make more sail than she could bear in safety. Our course was due west; and ahead of us, as evening fell, the horizon was obscured by a billowing black cloud of so strange an appearance that the General sent the galeot and frigate ahead to investigate it. They were to keep in close touch with each other and if they sighted land or reefs, or anything else, they were to show two lights, one above the other; and the signal of acknowledgement was to be two lights placed side by side. The cloud grew larger and larger, blotting out the stars of the western sky, and we began to sniff the air and ask one another: ‘Don’t you smell sulphur? Have we come to the Gates of Hell?’ During the night the frigate fell back and we sailed on cautiously two cables behind the galeot, taking occasional soundings but never striking bottom. The Chief Pilot now concluded that the cloud must be the smoke of a volcano and, hailing the galeot, ordered her to change course to the south-west.
At nine o’clock we caught a glimpse of the Santa Ysabel not far astern of us; and at eleven a thick fog rose to port and blotted out the southern horizon. The soldiers swore that it smelled like a land-fog, but the sailors remained unconvinced until suddenly a smart shower of rain drew back the curtain, and land was plainly revealed, no more than a league away. ‘Land ho!’ rang out from the deck as soon as from the cross-trees, and a rush of people came up for a sight of it. The galeot’s sails were reefed and for want of an anchorage she lay a-hull so as not to be driven inshore. We exchanged light signals with her and the frigate, which lay half a league off to starboard; but from the Santa Ysabel we could get no reply. This surprised us, because we had been making little way, and she should have been well within view.
The distant boom of surf on an unknown coast put us all in such fear of shipwreck that few dared go below; and a dense crowd of settlers collected around the long-boat. The Chief Pilot was busy with his log in the Chart-room, when about midnight Doña Ysabel and Don Luis came to him for reassurance. I was asleep at the time, but they could not have been there long, before I happened to wake and see Doña Ysabel’s face very clearly in the light of the lantern swinging above her. She stood bent over the chart on which Pedro Fernandez had been plotting our position; but it was on his curly hair and strong neck, not the parchment, that her eyes were fixed. A greedy longing shone so plain in them that I shut my own quickly, lest she caught me watching her. I reassured myself: ‘Nothing can come of this. He is far below her in station; and even if she were mad enough to declare her passion, he is a model of piety, loyal to a fault, and cares too much for his marriage to look at any woman but his wife.’ Though I tried to put the matter out of my mind, it returned assiduously and filled me with worse dismay than I can describe. At last I fell asleep again, but the nightmare pressed upon me: I dreamed that the ship had been cast away on a reef, and that a rain of red-hot lava fell all about us. I stood by the mainmast, dressed only in my shirt, warning the Boatswain and the Ensign with frantic gestures that Doña Ysabel was in truth more dangerous than either volcano or rock; but they would not listen, and pointed upwards with puzzled looks to where Don Alvaro chattered like a monkey in the shrouds, alternately crossing himself with great devotion and hurling green coconuts at us.
God brought the dawn at last, and I awoke to the sound of many voices singing: the whole ship’s company joining in the pages’ salutation. I ran on deck a
nd there, less than a league to the south-east, rose a round, wooded headland, very beautiful in the red light, and beyond it a long stretch of rocky coast. Close ahead of us lay the galeot; close to starboard, the frigate; but the Santa Ysabel was nowhere within view.
As day broadened we saw, thrust from the sea about eight leagues away, a sugar-loaf mountain so perfectly shaped that it might have been cut out with a knife; light smoke wreathed its summit, and there stood our volcano. The General sent the frigate to cruise around it, in case the Santa Ysabel might be lying becalmed under the land on its farther side. The galeot, at the same time, made for the headland to see whether she were anchored behind it.
While we waited for their return, the long-boat was got ready for hoisting out, the ship’s guns loaded, decks cleared, and the troops paraded under arms. Don Alvaro ordered a public confession, and to set an example, was the first to enter a small tent that had been rigged up as a confessional, where he spent fully five minutes with the Vicar. Most of those who were watching wondered that so saintly a man could have so much to repent; the few who knew him better thought that he might well have remained a good deal longer. The Colonel entered next, and was out again almost at once; his sins never weighed heavily on his conscience and, besides, he had not yet forgiven Father Juan. He was followed by the Chief Pilot and the high officers in order of rank. The Chaplain meanwhile confessed the crew and the settlers in a second tent, and within two hours we had all made our peace with God, except for seven men who held back resolutely, despite the Vicar’s entreaties and threats. Some, I suppose, had committed sins for which the proper penance was to surrender themselves and die at the yard-arm, and therefore postponed confession until they should come to a natural end; others were bad Christians and made light of all religion. Among these last was Matia, and when I reproached him for setting the younger soldiers a bad example, he asked me a riddle: ‘Don Andrés, what black beast is it that never breeds true, grimaces from a tree-top once a week, and sings loudest at the death of its own kind?’
The Islands of Unwisdom Page 19
