6,000 Tons of Gold. Henry Richardson Chamberlain
severely by the financial misfortunes of the Argentine Republic in 1892–93. They had been informed by agents in Buenos Ayres that the prevailing depression offered tempting opportunities for the investment of fresh enterprise and capital in several directions, notably in mines, real estate, and manufacturing. Brent had decided to make a trip for investigation, partly on his own account and partly on the assurance of his friends that they would join him financially in any promising enterprise.
These plain facts about his recent life and prospects Brent made known to his companion while they sat sheltered from the already tropical sun under the deck-awning one hot afternoon. The Scotchman was a sympathetic listener. It was, indeed, his genuine and apparent interest which induced the narration of most of the points in the simple biography. He did not refuse confidence in return, but what little he said about himself was in such general terms that Brent felt that it was modesty as well as natural reticence which withheld the details of a most adventurous career. He had evidently taken a strong fancy to the younger man and he discussed with greatest interest the chances of success in his search for fortune amid the many difficulties then existing in the struggling republic. He was silent, however, about his own immediate plans and about the nature of the interests which were occupying him. His offers of assistance to his new friend in the strange city to which he was going were coupled with the announcement that he should remain only a few days in Buenos Ayres, because business called him further south immediately.
The heat of the tropics was unrelieved even by one of the sudden storms which often break the monotony of the long southern voyage. Those who hoped for something out of the ordinary to make the trip memorable had begun to content themselves with anticipations of early arrival in port, when they were informed that the steamer had already entered the waters of the Rio de la Plata. No land was in sight. The sea was apparently as boundless as it had been for three weeks past. Most of the passengers thought it was a joke of the steward. There was only one river in the world, the Amazon, into whose mouth one could sail without sighting land—so, at least, they had read in their geographies. They were wrong, though, as they found when they applied to the first officer for information and had looked the matter up on the large map in the saloon. Buenos Ayres was still more than one hundred miles distant and they would see no land during the remaining two hours of daylight.
But an experience much more exciting than the first sight of land was vouchsafed them. A white line upon the sea appeared suddenly on the port bow away off to the southwest. It was seen from the bridge first and two or three quick orders set sailors and stewards flying in their hasty execution. Awnings were taken down in a trice, passengers were driven from their comfortable lounging chairs on deck, everything movable was taken away or made fast. To most of the passengers the sudden excitement was inexplicable and alarming.
“The pampero” was the only explanation anybody would stop to give. It was not many moments before ample explanation arrived. The pampero was soon upon them and it explained itself. The wind-storm, or dry hurricane, which comes off the land from the southwest and without warning lashes the Rio de la Plata and the sea beyond with a fury sometimes worse than the heaviest ocean storms, is a phenomenon peculiar to these latitudes. It never lasts long but its violence is often terrible. The Elbe faced the furious blast at first with dignified steadiness. Then as the sea became white, tempestuous, cyclonic, the ship forgot her dignity and struggled with trembling, straining frame against her merciless enemies. It was a test of her sternest resources. It was not a new peril. She had faced it before, not always unscathed, and this time again she survived the struggle. With only a few hurts, she emerged from the hour’s battle, shaken but safe.
It had been a trying hour below. Neptune’s transformation was full of terror for the passengers. His anger under the sudden assault of the winds seemed directed against those who had complained of his monotonous tranquillity. The wise ones among the ship’s company acted on the advice of the stewards and sought their berths at the beginning of the outbreak. Those whose curiosity to witness the fury of the sea kept them upon their feet were glad to seek a safer anchorage before the storm reached its height. Fraser and Brent were among these latter. Both were fairly good sailors and nature’s outburst of passion was a sublime spectacle which they were loth to leave. But they had no choice. The pitching of the ship became wilder and more erratic every moment. It was impossible to stand upright at a port-hole to watch the chaos of wind and water without. They did not abandon the attempt until two or three sudden lurches had thrown them into violent contact with tables, chairs, and other fixed objects.
They started at last to go to their staterooms below, but locomotion by this time was a dangerous experiment. They steered a zigzag course to the staircase, which they did not reach without several collisions, and Brent began to descend. He clung to the reeling railing and had gone down half the steps, when there was a cry and a blow from behind. He was wrenched from his hold and in a moment both men were pitched headlong to the deck below. A great lurch of the ship added violence to the fall, and they lay for a moment almost senseless upon the rubber mat at the bottom of the staircase.
“Are ye hurt, lad?” said the Scotchman, finding voice presently and trying to rise. He sank back again with an exclamation of pain, saying, “A broken leg, I’m afraid.”
Brent sat up rather dazed. “I don’t know,” he began, trying to raise his voice above the roar of the storm and the creaking of the ship’s timbers. “My arm is hurt, I think. Let me help you.” But the movement to aid his friend gave him a twinge that made him desist. They called for aid, but when a steward managed with some difficulty to reach them he could do little.
“Lie flat on your backs till the worst of this is over. It won’t last much longer,” was his advice. It was the only thing to do, though every motion of the ship was full of suffering, especially for Fraser.
The wind subsided almost as suddenly as it had risen. The doctor was summoned as soon as the ship became steadier. He found, as the Scotchman had feared, a broken leg and in Brent’s case a broken fore-arm, besides a few trifling bruises. The painful experience of transfer to his stateroom in the still restless ship and the setting of the fractured limb did not seem a very dreadful matter to the hardy Scotchman. But he was much worried over the consequences of his accident.
“I can’t abide this bad luck,” he said anxiously to Brent, who made light of his own hurts and visited his friend after the doctor had finished his work. “This means six weeks on my back and I can’t stand it. I’ve engagements that must be kept. It means all the difference between riches and poverty,” and the grizzled head shook in such exasperation of helpless revolt against fate that Brent did his best to relieve his bitterness of spirit.
“Oh, not so bad as that, I hope,” he responded cheerfully. “What you cannot do yourself, I can do under your direction. We are going to the same place. I have nothing pressing to require my attention and shall be delighted to see you out of this mishap. You just make a business of mending that broken leg and the other business will be taken care of all right. You shall tell me about it to-morrow and then we’ll see. Get a good night’s rest now.”
“You’re the right sort, lad, and I’ll trust you,” said the other gratefully, gripping Brent’s uninjured hand. “Perhaps you can help me, and you won’t suffer for it if you do. I’ll think it over and we’ll have a good talk to-morrow.”
That night the Elbe reached Buenos Ayres. Brent sought the services of the best surgeon in the city, who came aboard and put Fraser’s damaged leg in a plaster cast. He assured the impatient Scotchman that with good care he might hope to be on foot again in about five weeks, but he must not attempt to get about even with crutches under a month.
Fraser did not attempt to bring up the subject of his business disappointments with his friend until he had been safely transferred to pleasant quarters in a hotel on the afternoon of the 6th of October. He had been preoccupied and silent most of the time and Brent had found it hard work to rally him into even passing interest in his surroundings. The young man superintended the landing and storage of a dozen or more large cases belonging to Fraser from the cargo of the Elbe. When the invalid had been made comfortable upon an adjustable cot procured from a nearby hospital, he invited Brent to return after he had got a glimpse of the city. They would