The Tragedy of Ida Noble. William Clark Russell
CHAPTER II.
THE PEOPLE OF LA CASANDRA.
The two foreigners, as I might suppose them to be—the two gentlemen who had talked to me and viewed me in the cabin before I went to the captain's berth—these men were pacing the sand-colored planks of the quarter-deck arm in arm, cigars in their mouths, as I emerged; but, on seeing me, they came to a halt. One was a truly noble-looking fellow, rising a full inch taller than six feet, and of a magnificently proportioned shape. This was the man who had addressed me in good English, but with a foreign accent. He was, besides, an exceedingly handsome person, his complexion very dark, his eyes of the dead blackness of the Indian's, but soft and glowing; he wore a large heavy mustache, black as ink, and curling to his ears; his teeth were strong, large, and of an ivory whiteness. Plain sailor-man as I was, used to the commonplace character and countenance of the mariner, I was without any art in the deciphering of the mind by gazing at the lineaments of the human face. To me this person offered himself as a noble, handsome man, of imposing presence, of a beauty even stately; but when I think of him now in the light of that larger knowledge of human nature which years have taught me, when I recall his face, I say, I am conscious of having missed something in the expression of it which must have helped me to a tolerably accurate perception of the real character of this schooner's errand, when the "motive" of her voyage was explained to me.
His companion was a short man, a true Spaniard in his looks; his large hooked nose, his searching, restless, brilliant black eyes, his mustaches and short black beard might well have qualified him to sit for a picture of Cervantes, according to such prints of that great author as I have seen. They were both well dressed—too well dressed, indeed. They wore overcoats richly furred, velvet coats beneath, splendid waistcoats, and so forth. The fingers of the shorter man sparkled with precious stones. There was a stout gold chain round his neck, and a costly brooch in his cravat. They both fastened a penetrating gaze upon me for some moments, and exchanged a few sentences in Spanish before addressing me.
"The gentleman's name is Portlack—Mr. Portlack, Don Christoval," said Captain Dopping: "he was second mate of a bark named the Ocean Ranger. He was hocussed, as the Pikeys (gypsies) say, by an American captain. He'll tell you the story, sir."
"How do you feel?" said Don Christoval.
"Perfectly recovered, I thank you," said I.
"I am glad. We were not too soon. I believe that another twenty-four hours of your desperate situation must have killed you," said this tall Don, delivering his words slowly, and looking very stately, and speaking in English so correctly that I wondered at his foreign accent.
"Vot ees secon' mate?" inquired the shorter man, pronouncing the words with difficulty.
"Why, you might call it second lieutenant, Don Lazarillo," replied Captain Dopping.
"It is a position of trust; it is a position of distinction on board ship?" exclaimed Don Christoval.
"Oh yes," said Captain Dopping.
"Do you know navigation?" asked the tall Don.
"I hold a master's certificate," I replied, smiling.
"Explain," said Don Lazarillo sharply, as though his mind were under some constant strain of unhealthy anxiety.
"I do not speak a word of Spanish," said I, turning to Captain Dopping.
"No need for it," said he, in his harsh accents. "A master's certificate, Don Christoval, enables the holder of it to take charge of a ship, and in order to take charge of a ship a man is supposed to know everything that concerns the profession of the sea."
"Explain," cried Don Lazarillo with impatience.
His tall companion translated; on which the other, nodding vehemently, stroked his mustaches while he again surveyed me from head to foot, letting his eyes, full of fire, settle with the most searching look that can be imagined upon my face. I caught Don Christoval exchanging a glance with Captain Dopping. There was a brief pause while the tall Don lighted his cigar. He then said, with a smile:
"You have lost your ship, sir?"
"I have, I am sorry to say."
"What will you do, sir?"
"It is for you to dispose of me. I should be glad to make myself useful to you until you transfer me or land me."
"But then—but then?"
"Then I must endeavor to obtain another berth," said I.
"Explain," cried Don Lazarillo.
Don Christoval spoke to him in Spanish.
"You are a gentleman by birth?" said the tall Don.
"My father was a clergyman," I answered.
"Yes, sir, that is very good. Your speech tells me you are genteel. To speak English well you must be genteel. Education will enable you to speak English grammatically, but it will not help you to pronounce it properly. For example, a man vulgarly born, who is educated too, will omit his h's, and he will neglect his g's. He will say nothin', and he will say 'ouse instead of house. Yes, I know it—I know it," said he, smiling. "Well, you shall tell me now all about your adventure."
This I did. He occasionally stopped me while he interpreted to his companion, who listened to him with eager attention, while he would also strain his ears with his eyes sternly fixed upon my face when I spoke. When I had made an end, Don Christoval drew Captain Dopping to him by a backward motion of his head, and, after addressing him in low tones, he took Don Lazarillo's arm, and the pair of them fell to patrolling the deck.
"We shall sling a hammock for you under the main hatch," said Captain Dopping, walking up to me. "Sorry we can't accommodate you aft. There's scarce room for a rat in my corner, let alone two men."
"Any part of the schooner will serve to sling a hammock in for me," said I.
"You will take your meals with me in the cabin," said he. "I eat when the two gentlemen have done."
"Where does your mate live?" said I.
"I have no mate," he answered. "We were in a hurry, and could not find a man."
He eyed me somewhat oddly as he spoke, as though to mark the effect of his words.
"But is there no one to help you to keep a look-out?"
"Ay! a seaman," he answered, carelessly. "But now that you're aboard we will be able to relieve him from that duty."
"Whatever you put me to," said I, "you will find me as willing at it as gratitude can make a man."
He roughly nodded, and asked me what part of England I came from. I answered that I was born near Guildford.
"I hail from Deal," said he. "Do you know Deal?"
"Well," I answered; and spoke of some people whom I had visited there; gave him the names of the streets, and of a number of boatmen I had conversed with during my stay at the salt and shingly place. This softened him. It was marvelous to observe how the magic of memory, the tenderness of recollected association humanized the coarse, harsh, bold, and staring looks of this scarlet-haired man.
"But," said I, "you have not yet told me where this schooner is bound to."
"You will hear all about it," he answered, with his usual air returning to him.
I was not a little astonished by this answer. Had the schooner sailed on some piratic expedition? Was there some colossal undertaking of smuggling in contemplation? But though piracy, to be sure, still flourished, it was hardly to be thought of in relation with those northern seas toward which the schooner was heading; while as for smuggling, if the four seamen whom I counted at work about the vessel's deck comprised—with the fifth man, who was at her helm—the whole of the crew, there was nothing in any theory of a contraband