Читать книгу: «The Adventures of Captain Horn», страница 26

“The fact is,” said he, “that I never before saw standing together such a fine specimen of a man and such a beautiful, glowing, radiant woman.”

“I don’t see why you need say that,” said she, quickly. “You and I stood up together.”

“Yes,” he replied, with a smile, “but I wasn’t a spectator.”

CHAPTER LI. BANKER DOES SOME IMPORTANT BUSINESS

When Banker went back to the prison cell, he was still firmly convinced that he had been overreached by his former captain, Raminez; and, although he knew it not, there were good reasons for his convictions. Often had he noticed, in the Rackbirds’ camp, a peculiar form of the eyebrows which surmounted the slender, slightly aquiline nose of his chief. Whenever Raminez was anxious, or beginning to be angered, his brow would slightly knit, and the ends of his eyebrows would approach each other, curling upward and outward as they did so. This was an action of the eyebrows which was peculiar to the Darcias of Granada, from which family the professor’s father had taken a wife, and had brought her to Paris. A sister of this wife had afterwards married a Spanish gentleman named Blanquotè, whose second son, having fallen into disgrace in Spain, had gone to America, where he changed his name to Raminez, and performed a number of discreditable deeds, among which was the deception of several of his discreditable comrades in regard to his family. They could not help knowing that he came from Spain, and he made them all believe that his real name was Raminez. There had been three of them, besides Banker, who had made it the object of their lives to wait for the opportunity to obtain blackmail from his family, by threatened declarations of his deeds.

This most eminent scoundrel, whose bones now lay at the bottom of the Pacific Ocean, had inherited from his grandfather that same trick of the eyebrows above his thin and slightly aquiline nose which Banker had observed upon the countenance of the professor in the police station, and who had inherited it from the same Spanish gentleman.

The next day Banker received a visitor. It was Professor Barré. As this gentleman entered the cell, followed by two guards, who remained near the door, Banker looked up in amazement. He had expected a message, but had not dreamed that he should see the man himself.

“Captain,” he exclaimed, as he sprang to his feet, “this is truly good of you. I see you are the same old trump as ever, and do not bear malice.” He spoke in Spanish, for such had been the language in common use in camp.

The professor paid no attention to these words. “I came here,” he said, “to demand of you why you made that absurd and malicious charge against me the other day. Such charges are not passed over in France, but I will give you a chance to explain yourself.”

Banker looked at him admiringly. “He plays the part well,” he said to himself. “He is a great gun. There is no use of my charging against him. I will not try it, but I shall let him see where I stand.”

“Captain,” said he, “I have nothing to explain, except that I was stirred up a good deal and lost my temper. I oughtn’t to have made that charge against you. Of course, it could not be of any good to me, and I am perfectly ready to meet you on level ground. I will take back everything I have already said, and, if necessary, I will prove that I made a mistake and never saw you before, and I only ask in return that you get me out of this and give me enough to make me comfortable. That won’t take much, you know, and you seem to be in first-class condition these days. There! I have put it to you fair and square, and saved you the trouble of making me any offers. You stand by me, and I’ll stand by you. I am ready to swear until I am black in the face that you never were in Peru, and that I never saw you until the other day, when I made that mistake about you on account of the queer fashion of your eyebrows, which looked just like those of a man who really had been my captain, and that I now see you are two entirely different men. I will make a good tale of it, captain, and I will stick to it — you can rely on that. By all the saints, I hope those two fellows at the door don’t understand Spanish!”

The professor had made himself sure that the guards who accompanied him spoke nothing but French. Without referring to Banker’s proposed bargain, he said to him, “Was the captain of the bandits under whom you served a Spaniard?”

“Yes, you were a Spaniard,” said Banker.

“From what part of Spain did he come?”

“You let out several times that you once lived in Granada.”

“What was that captain’s real name?” asked the professor.

“Your name was Raminez — unless, indeed,” and here his face clouded a little, “unless, indeed, you tricked us. But I have pumped you well on that point, and, drunk or sober, it was always Raminez.”

“Raminez, then, a Spaniard of my appearance,” said the professor, “was your captain when you were in a band called the Rackbirds, which had its rendezvous on the coast of Peru?”

“Yes, you were all that,” said Banker.

“Very well, then,” said Barré. “I have nothing more to say to you at present,” and he turned and left the cell. The guards followed, and the door was closed.

Banker remained dumb with amazement. When he had regained his power of thought and speech, he fell into a state of savage fury, which could be equalled by nothing living, except, perhaps, by a trapped wildcat, and among his objurgations, as he strode up and down his cell, the most prominent referred to the new and incomprehensible trick which this prince of human devils had just played upon him. That he had been talking to his old captain he did not doubt for a moment, and that that captain had again got the better of him he doubted no less.

It may be stated here that, the evening before, the professor had had a long talk with Ralph regarding the Rackbirds and their camp. Professor Barré had heard something of the matter before, but many of the details were new to him.

When Ralph left him, the professor gave himself up to reflections upon what he had heard, and he gradually came to believe that there might be some reason for his identification as the bandit captain by the man Banker.

For five or six years there had been inquiries on foot concerning the second son of Señor Blanquotè of Granada, whose elder brother had died without heirs, and who, if now living, would inherit Blanquotè’s estates. It was known that this man had led a wild and disgraceful career, and it was also ascertained that he had gone to America, and had been known on the Isthmus of Panama and elsewhere by the name of Raminez. Furthermore, Professor Barré had been frequently told by his mother that when he was a boy she had noticed, while on a visit to Spain, that he and this cousin very much resembled each other.

It is not necessary to follow out the legal steps and inquiries, based upon the information which he had had from Ralph and from Banker, which were now made by the professor. It is sufficient to state that he was ultimately able to prove that the Rackbird chief known as Raminez was, in reality, Tomaso Blanquotè, that he had perished on the coast of Peru, and that he, the professor, was legal heir to the Blanquotè estates.

Barré had not been able to lead his pupil to as high a place in the temple of knowledge as he had hoped, but, through his acquaintance with that pupil, he himself had become possessed of a castle in Spain.

CHAPTER LII. THE CAPTAIN TAKES HIS STAND

It was now July, and the captain and Edna had returned to Paris. The world had been very beautiful during their travels in England, and although the weather was beginning to be warm, the world was very beautiful in Paris. In fact, to these two it would have been beautiful almost anywhere. Even the desolate and arid coast of Peru would have been to them as though it were green with herbage and bright with flowers.

The captain’s affairs were not yet definitely arranged, for the final settlement would depend upon negotiations which would require time, but there was never in the world a man more thoroughly satisfied than he. And whatever happened, he had enough; and he had Edna. His lawyers had made a thorough investigation into the matter of his rights to the treasure he had discovered and brought to Europe, and they had come to a conclusion which satisfied them. This decision was based upon equity and upon the laws and usages regarding treasure-trove.

The old Roman law upon the subject, still adhered to by some of the Latin countries of Europe, gave half of a discovered treasure to the finder, and half to the crown or state, and it was considered that a good legal stand could be taken in the present instance upon the application of this ancient law to a country now governed by the descendants of Spaniards.

Whether or not the present government of Peru, if the matter should be submitted to it, would take this view of the case, was a subject of conjecture, of course, but the captain’s counsel strongly advised him to take position upon the ground that he was entitled to half the treasure. Under present circumstances, when Captain Horn was so well prepared to maintain his rights, it was thought that the Peruvian authorities might easily be made to see the advisability of accepting a great advantage freely offered, instead of endeavoring to obtain a greater advantage, in regard to which it would be very difficult, if not impossible, to legally prove anything or to claim anything.

Therefore, it was advised that a commission should be sent to Lima to open negotiations upon the subject, with instructions to make no admissions in regard to the amount of the treasure, its present places of deposit, or other particulars, until the Peruvian government should consent to a satisfactory arrangement.

To this plan Captain Horn consented, determining, however, that, if the negotiations of his commission should succeed, he would stipulate that at least one half the sum paid to Peru should be devoted to the advantage of the native inhabitants of that country, to the establishment of schools, hospitals, libraries, and benefactions of the kind. If the commission should not succeed, he would then attend to the matter in his own way.

Thus, no matter what happened, he would still insist upon his claim to one fifth of the total amount as his pay for the discovery of the treasure, and in this claim his lawyers assured him he could be fully secured.

Other matters were in a fair way of settlement. The captain had made Shirley and Burke his agents through whom he would distribute to the heirs of the crew of the Castor their share of the treasure which had been apportioned to them, and the two sailors had already gone to America upon this mission. How to dispose of the Arato had been a difficult question, upon which the captain had taken legal advice. That she had started out from Valparaiso with a piratical crew, that those pirates had made an attack upon him and his men, and that, in self-defence, he had exterminated them, made no difference in his mind, or that of his counsellors, as to the right of the owners of the vessel to the return of their property. But a return of the vessel itself would be difficult and hazardous. Whoever took it to Valparaiso would be subject to legal inquiry as to the fate of the men who had hired it, and it would be, indeed, cruel and unjust to send out a crew in this vessel, knowing that they would be arrested when they arrived in port. Consequently, he determined to sell the Arato, and to add to the amount obtained what might be considered proper on account of her detention, and to send this sum to Valparaiso, to be paid to the owners of the Arato.

The thoughts of all our party were now turned toward America. As time went on, the captain and Edna might have homes in different parts of the world, but their first home was to be in their native land.

Mrs. Cliff was wild to reach her house, that she might touch it with the magician’s wand of which she was now the possessor, that she might touch not only it, but that she might touch and transform the whole of Plainton, and, more than all, that with it she might touch and transform herself. She had bought all she wanted. Paris had yielded to her everything she asked of it, and no ship could sail too fast which should carry her across the ocean.

The negroes were all attached to the captain’s domestic family. Maka and Cheditafa were not such proficient attendants as the captain might have employed, but he desired to have these two near him, and intended to keep them there as long as they would stay. Although Mok and the three other Africans had much to learn in regard to the duties of domestic servants, there would always be plenty of people to teach them.

* * * * *

In his prison cell Banker sat, lay down, or walked about, cursing his fate and wondering what was meant by the last dodge of that rascal Raminez. He never found out precisely, but he did find out that the visit of Professor Barré to his cell had been of service to him.

That gentleman, when he became certain that he should so greatly profit by the fact that an ex-brigand had pointed him out as an ex-captain of brigands, had determined to do what he could for the fellow who had unconsciously rendered him the service. So he employed a lawyer to attend to Banker’s case, and as it was not difficult to prove that the accused had not even touched Cheditafa, but had only threatened to maltreat him, and that the fight which caused his arrest was really begun by Mok, it was not thought necessary to inflict a very heavy punishment. In fact, it was suggested in the court that it was Mok who should be put on trial.

So Banker went for a short term to prison, where he worked hard and earned his living, and when he came out he thought it well to leave Paris, and he never found out the nature of the trick which he supposed his old chief had played upon him.

The trial of Banker delayed the homeward journey of Captain Horn and his party, for Cheditafa and Mok were needed as witnesses, but did not delay it long. It was early in August, when the danger from floating icebergs had almost passed, and when an ocean journey is generally most pleasant, that nine happy people sailed from Havre for New York. Captain Horn and Edna had not yet fully planned their future life, but they knew that they had enough money to allow them to select any sphere of life toward which ordinary human ambitions would be apt to point, and if they never received another bar of the unapportioned treasure, they would not only be preeminently satisfied with what fortune had done for them, but would be relieved of the great responsibilities which greater fortune must bring with it.

As for Mrs. Cliff, her mind was so full of plans for the benefit of her native town that she could talk and think of nothing else, and could scarcely be induced to take notice of a spouting whale, which was engaging the attention of all the passengers and the crew.

The negroes were perfectly content. They were accustomed to the sea, and did not mind the motion of the vessel. They had but little money in their pockets, and had no reason to expect they would ever have much more, but they knew that as long as they lived they would have everything that they wanted, that the captain thought was good for them, and to a higher earthly paradise their souls did not aspire. Cheditafa would serve his mistress, Maka would serve the captain, and Mok would wear fine clothes and serve his young master Ralph, whenever, haply, he should have the chance.

As for Inkspot, he doubted whether or not he should ever have all the whiskey he wanted, but he had heard that in the United States that delectable fluid was very plentiful, and he thought that perhaps in that blessed country that blessed beverage might not produce the undesirable effects which followed its unrestricted use in other lands.

CHAPTER LIII. A LITTLE GLEAM AFAR

It was late in the autumn of that year, and upon a lonely moor in Scotland, that a poor old woman stood shivering in the cold wind. She was outside of a miserable little hut, in the doorway of which stood two men.

For five or six years she had lived alone in that little hut.

It was a very poor place, but it kept out the wind and the rain and the snow, and it was a home to her, and for the greater part of these years in which she had lived there alone, she had received, at irregular and sometimes long intervals, sums of money, often very small and never large, from her son, who was a sailorman upon seas of which she did not even know the name.

But for many months no money had come from this wandering son, and it was very little that she had been able to earn. Sometimes she might have starved, had it not been for the charity of others almost as poor as she. As for rent, it had been due for a long time, and at last it had been due so long that her landlord felt that further forbearance would be not only unprofitable, but that it would serve as a bad example to his other tenants. Consequently, he had given orders to eject the old woman from her hut. She was now a pauper, and there were places where paupers would be taken care of.

The old woman stood sadly shivering. Her poor old eyes, a little dimmed with tears, were directed southward toward the far-away vanishing-point of the rough and narrow road which meandered over the moor and lost itself among the hills.

She was waiting for the arrival of a cart which a poor neighbor had promised to borrow, to take her and her few belongings to the nearest village, where there was a good road over which she might walk to a place where paupers were taken care of. A narrow stream, which roared and rushed around or over many a rock, ran at several points close to the road, and, swelled by heavy rains, had overflowed it to the depth of a foot or more. The old woman and the two men in the doorway of the hut stood and waited for the cart to come.

As they waited, heavy clouds began to rise in the north, and there was already a drizzle of rain. At last they saw a little black spot upon the road, which soon proved to be a cart drawn by a rough pony. On it came, until they could almost hear it splashing through the water where the stream had passed its bounds, or rattling over the rough stones in other places. But, to their surprise, there were two persons in the cart. Perhaps the boy Sawney had with him a traveller who was on his way north.

This was true. Sawney had picked up a traveller who was glad to find a conveyance going across the moor to his destination. This man was a quick-moving person in a heavy waterproof coat with its collar turned up over his ears.

As soon as the cart stopped, near the hut, he jumped down and approached the two men in the doorway.

“Is that the widow McLeish?” he said, pointing to the old woman.

They assured him that he was correct, and he approached her.

“You are Mrs. Margaret McLeish?” said he.

She looked at him in a vague sort of way and nodded. “That’s me,” said she. “Is it pay for the cart you’re after? If that’s it, I must walk.”

“Had you a son, Mrs. McLeish?” said the man.

“Ay,” said she, and her face brightened a little.

“And what was his name?”

“Andy,” was the answer.

“And his calling?”

“A sailorman.”

“Well, then,” said the traveller in the waterproof, “there is no doubt that you are the person I came here to see. I was told I should find you here, and here you are. I may as well tell you at once, Mrs. McLeish, that your son is dead.”

“That is no news,” she answered. “I knew that he must be dead.”

“But I didn’t come here only to tell you that. There is money coming to you through him — enough to make you comfortable for the rest of your life.”

“Money!” exclaimed the old woman. “To me?”

The two men who had been standing in the doorway of the hut drew near, and Sawney jumped down from the cart. The announcement made by the traveller was very interesting.

“Yes,” said the man in the waterproof, pulling his collar up a little higher, for the rain was increasing, “you are to have one hundred and four pounds a year, Mrs. McLeish, and that’s two pounds a week, you know, and you will have it as long as you live.”

“Two pounds a week!” cried the old woman, her eyes shining out of her weazened old face like two grouse eggs in a nest. “From my Andy?”

“Yes, from your son,” said the traveller. And as the rain was now much more than a drizzle, and as the wind was cold, he made his tale as short as possible.

He told her that her son had died far away in South America, and, from what he had gained there, one hundred and four pounds a year would be coming to her, and that she might rely on this as long as she lived. He did not state — for he was not acquainted with all the facts — that Shirley and Burke, when they were in San Francisco hunting up the heirs of the Castor’s crew, had come upon traces of the A. McLeish whose body they had found in the desert, lying flat on its back, with a bag of gold clasped to its breast — that they had discovered, by means of the agent through whom McLeish had been in the habit of forwarding money to his mother, the address of the old woman, and, without saying anything to Captain Horn, they had determined to do something for her.

The fact that they had profited by the gold her son had carried away from the cave, was the main reason for this resolution, and although, as Shirley said, it might appear that the Scotch sailor was a thief, it was true, after all, he had as much right to a part of the gold he had taken as Captain Horn could have. Therefore, as they had possessed themselves of his treasure, they thought it but right that they should provide for his mother. So they bought an annuity for her in Edinburgh, thinking this better than sending her the total amount which they considered to be her share, not knowing what manner of woman she might be, and they arranged that an agent should be sent to look her up, and announce to her her good fortune. It had taken a long time to attend to all these matters, and it was now late in the autumn.

“You must not stand out in the rain, Mrs. McLeish,” said one of the men, and he urged her to come back into the hut. He said he would build a fire for her, and she and the gentleman from Edinburgh could sit down and talk over matters. No doubt there would be some money in hand, he said, out of which the rent could be paid, and, even if this should not be the case, he knew the landlord would be willing to wait a little under the circumstances.

“Is there money in hand for me?” asked the old woman.

“Yes,” said the traveller. “The annuity was to begin with October, and it is now the first of November, so there is eight pounds due to you.”

“Eight pounds!” she exclaimed, after a moment’s thought. “It must be more than that. There’s thirty-one days in October!”

“That’s all right, Mrs. McLeish,” said the traveller. “I will pay you the right amount. But I really think you had better come into your house, for it is going to be a bad afternoon, and I must get away as soon as I can. I will go, as I came, in the cart, for you won’t want it now.”

Mrs. McLeish stood up as straight as she could, and glanced from the traveller to the two men who had put her out of her home. Then, in the strongest terms her native Gaelic would afford, she addressed these two men. She assured them that, sooner than enter that contemptible little hut again, she would sleep out on the bare moor. She told them to go to their master and tell him that she did not want his house, and that he could live in it himself, if he chose — that she was going in the cart to Killimontrick, and she would take lodgings in the inn there until she could get a house fit for the habitation of the mother of a man like her son Andy; and that if their master had anything to say about the rent that was due, they could tell him that he had satisfied himself by turning her out of her home, and if he wanted anything more, he could whistle for it, or, if he didn’t choose to do that, he could send his factor to whistle for it in the main street of Killimontrick.

“Come, Sawney boy, put my two bundles in the cart, and then help me in. The gentleman will drive, and I’ll sit on the seat beside him, and you can sit behind in the straw, and — you’re sure it’s two pounds a week, sir?” she said to the traveller, who told her that she was right, and then she continued to Sawney, “I’ll make your mother a present which will help the poor old thing through the winter, and I’m sure she needs it.”

With a heavier load than he had brought, the pony’s head was turned homeward, and the cart rattled away over the rough stones, and splashed through the water on the roadway, and in the dark cloud which hung over the highest mountain beyond the moor, there came a little glint of lighter sky, as if some lustre from the Incas’ gold had penetrated even into this gloomy region.