A Million Tears (64 page)

Onboard the
Lucky Lady
, Jake was in a foul mood, berating me for not being there in time to catch the early tide. The next tide was still a couple of hours away so I went below to sleep.

We left for Puerto Rico. The island was no longer controlled by the United States, ever since the SpanishAmerican war that had started on 1st May 1898, and been over within ten weeks. General Miles’ army had marched through the island as though on a holiday parade. At the time there were many rich Spaniards living on the island and some of them had elected to stay in the hope that they would be able to keep their land and wealth. With the democratic freedom now available to the people and the courts it was a short lived hope. Many Spaniards were tried for theft, corruption and the abuse of power. Some were deported penniless, others were murdered, but some managed to hide upon the island in the hope that life would improve or more importantly, that they would be able to escape with the gold and other wealth they had amassed. We were on our way to pick up one such family and then take them to Bermuda – a distance close to a thousand miles. All the arrangements had been made by Casper. It was a long journey to undertake but for seven thousand dollars it was more than worth it.

We sailed south of Haiti with the island barely discernible on the horizon. After passing Santo Domingo in the Dominican Republic we put into a small village on the easternmost tip of the Antilles to take on water and replenish our food supplies.

Because of the adverse winds, it was two o’clock in the morning of the eleventh day when we approached a small, deserted bay, twenty miles west of San Juan, on the north side of the island.

The night was pitch black, the moon hidden behind heavy clouds, the air oppressive with a feeling of impending rain. The coastline here was straight and the bay barely more than an indentation. The water was deep until close inshore, so Jake took us to within fifty yards. We exchanged lamp signals and all seemed safe. It had been arranged for the four passengers to have their own boat to save time.

Now and again a squall rocked the
Lucky Lady
and caused the sail to flap, the sound like that of a gun shot. Jake kept the boat as steady as he could, with the wind blowing sometimes over the port and then the starboard bow. We would drift out fifty yards before closing on the shore again, waiting impatiently. What the hell was keeping them? We stood in the cockpit, ears strained for the sound of oars. I could see no further than the bow and the first indication someone was coming was the sound of a faint creak of a rowlock. Then there was a yell from further away, whistles rent the air, yells and orders were screamed and shots were fired. All hell was breaking loose. Jake and I stood frozen for a few moments, our rifles ready.

With a curse Jake thrust the wheel over, the wind filled the jibs, turning us until the stern faced the island and the main sail and mizzen took effect. Flashes from guns ashore were pinpricks of instant yellow and red, followed by the noise of the shot. It sounded as though a battle was taking place, but whatever was happening they were not firing at us. Or if they were, a combination of the darkness and poor shooting prevented any bullets coming close. There was a lull in the noise and somebody shouted to us to stop.

‘Jake, somebody asked us to wait, a woman I think. Shall we just slow and see what happens? We’re far enough away not to be hit by any stray bullet.’

By way of reply he let the wind out of our sails and we hove to, trying to penetrate the night with our ears. Behind the background of the noise ashore, now some three hundred yards away, we heard a whimper, a curse and a man’s voice telling somebody to row, for the love of God.

A plaintive voice said, ‘Which way? I can’t see them. They’re probably out to sea by now.’ It sounded like a youth speaking.

‘We cannot go back, so we may as well go on,’ the woman, whoever she was, broke into Spanish which I did not understand.

I took the lamp, lit it in the shadow of the cockpit and flashed it briefly, once, towards the shore. There was an exclamation, a vigorous sound of oars being used and I called out, ‘Who is it? What’s your names?’

‘Mendoza,’ came the reply and the small boat came into sight a few yards astern of us. Jake was ready to pick up the wind the instant anything untoward happened while I was ready to shoot. The boat came alongside and in the heat of the moment all passwords were forgotten. I helped the passengers aboard, two women, a young man and a wounded older man. The youth passed up two heavy boxes about two feet long, one foot wide and one foot deep which nearly caused me to topple over the railing because of the unexpected weight. Then he passed up two trunks which I assumed held their clothes and other personal effects. If we had used our own dinghy I would have needed a trip for each item.

Once aboard, I let the boat drift free, Jake caught the wind and we turned north once more. I showed the Mendozas into the saloon, helping the wounded man. We had closed and curtained the port holes and with the door shut no light seeped out when I lit the lamps.

The older man, frail looking and with a white, carefully trimmed beard, lay on the seat alongside the table. His breathing was uneasy, his face chalk white and his clothes were stained with blood. The older woman – his wife I assumed, was wringing her hands in anguish. The black haired and beautiful daughter did nothing, looking distraught, while the youngster stood with a pistol pointing at the deck.

‘Isn’t anybody going to help him?’ I asked. ‘Or are you just going to stand there and watch him die?’

‘Signor,’ said the older lady, ‘I and my children do not know what to do.’ Her voice had a dignity that was unexpected under the circumstances.

‘You, you do something,’ said the youth, waving his gun in my direction. ‘It is your fault. If you cowards had waited for us instead of sailing away this would never have happened. If my father dies, so will you.’ He could not have been more than seventeen years old, slick black hair showing under a black, Spanish style hat. His clothes were expensive though dishevelled.

He was about four feet from me and I did not give myself much time to think what I was doing. I took a half pace towards the prone figure of his father, backhanded the youth across the face as hard as I could and at the same time clamped my other hand across the hammer of his gun, preventing him from pulling the trigger. There was a shocked silence for a second and then Jake put his head through the door.

‘It’s all right, everything’s under control.’ The boy lay on the deck, glaring venomously at me. The girl stepped forward as I put the gun in my belt.

‘Hold it. Don’t do anything stupid. I don’t have any qualms about hitting a woman, believe me, especially if I think they need it.’

She stopped.

‘You will die for that insult to my sister,’ the boy tried to speak through clenched teeth, sounding absurd.

‘Grow up, sonny,’ I said, annoyed. ‘I could shoot you now and throw you overboard and nobody would be any the wiser. Your family could follow you. So keep the melodrama to your imagination. You,’ I said to the girl, ‘light the stove and put some water on.’ She did not move until her mother spoke to her in Spanish. Sullenly she did as I had ordered.

I found our first aid kit and rummaged around until I had a pair of scissors and some bandages. Carefully I cut away the old man’s coat and shirt. His clothes were sodden with blood, right down to his tight-fitting trousers. The wounds in his shoulder and side were worse than I would have thought possible for a man to suffer and still breathe. A bullet had entered his shoulder, smashed the bone, been deflected and exited under his left wing bone. Blood was still seeping steadily through the hole in his back. The other bullet had hit him in the right side of the chest; there was little blood and no exit. If he lasted the night I would be surprised.

‘We had better get him into the port cabin. You, give me a hand.’ The boy, who was now standing, glared at me and then bent to take his father’s legs. Carefully we carried him forward and put him on the bunk. I cleaned up as much blood as I could, not knowing what else to do. His breathing was becoming more laboured and shallow.

‘Will he live, Signor?’ asked his wife.

I shook my head. ‘I don’t think so. I can clean the wounds but I can’t do anything more. He needs a doctor and even then . . .’ I trailed off and shrugged.

‘I have seen other wounds like these, Senor and I am sure my husband will not last the night. A doctor could not save him. Please leave, as I wish to pray over him.’

‘I’ll help you clean him up some more and then bandage him,’ I said. The girl appeared with more hot water and we washed most of the blood away. The old lady was more of a hindrance than a help but finally there was nothing further for me to do and I left. In the saloon I poured myself a stiff brandy and another for Jake. I wanted fresh air badly.

‘Pour one for me too,’ said the girl haughtily, coming to sit at the table, her brother with her.

I was about to tell her to do it herself when I thought what the hell. For seven thousand dollars I could pour her a drink. ‘My name’s David Griffiths,’ I said, handing the brandy to them. Neither bothered to reply. ‘Listen you two, we’re going to be stuck here for the best part of two weeks. We need to get on together even if that only entails being civil to each other.’ Still no reply so I left them to their silence and went up top. I explained the situation to Jake.

‘That’s all we need. The sooner he’s dead the better. If he lingers on life will be hell and it looks as thought it’s going to be bad enough as it is. Did you ask them what the shooting was about?’

I shook my head. ‘No, I was too busy.’

‘It doesn’t matter. You take over here and I’ll go and find out. I won’t be long.’

I could no longer see the island, not even the lights of villages. We continued sailing without navigational lamps, ploughing through the stygian darkness, under heavy cloud, heading due north with the wind fine on our port beam. When Jake reappeared he had the brandy bottle with him and refilled my glass.

‘According to the girl they had been at the rendezvous with about twenty armed men to protect them. Some of the men they’ve known for years while others were just hired for the occasion. After they exchanged signals with us they left the shore and the firing started. They’ve no idea who attacked them, whether it was soldiers or crooks after their money. The boy then said that they are carrying a fortune in gold and jewels, the stupid bugger.’ Jake chuckled. ‘You should have heard the girl telling him off when he said that. I know some Spanish but not enough. Eeee, what a tongue she must have. And that body, phew, beautiful isn’t the word.’

‘No fondling the merchandise,’ I warned him. ‘It could lead to much trouble. It would probably besmirch his honour for a gringo to even so much as look at the fine lady his sister.’

‘No doubt,’ Jake said with a sign. ‘Pity.’

The old man never regained consciousness and died a short while later. We wrapped him in a weighted piece of canvas and to my surprise Jake said an appropriate prayer over the body. The dawn was breaking into a dull and grey day when we committed his body to the sea. The women cried while the boy stood silently, white faced. The body floated for a few seconds, a grey blob in the grey looking sea and then sank. The Mendozas went below to the forward cabins – presumably to grieve in private. The two women shared the port cabin, the boy had the starboard one, while I now slept in the saloon.

For the first two days while the weather remained unsettled our passengers remained in their cabins, being ill, refusing all food but taking water. The girl was the first to appear, looking pale and very sorry for herself. She managed to eat some stew and keep it down, and after a few hours in the fresh air got some of the colour back into her cheeks. That evening her brother joined us but their mother did not reappear for another two days.

Senora Mendoza looked terrible and I tried to imagine how Mam would feel under the circumstances. Perhaps I understood something of the anguish the woman was going through which made me very attentive and I helped her as much as possible.

The boy continued to be rude and surly and a number of times I had to resist the temptation to hit him again.

The girl gave Jake seven thousand dollars in gold and we both spent the days wishing the journey away. On the sixth day the weather cleared, the sea calmed and the wind dropped. I was standing by the main mast when I realised the girl was sitting on the starboard side, staring at the water.

‘I hope the weather stays like this until we get to Bermuda,’ I said. No response. ‘I’m really sorry about your father. I hope you realise there was nothing Jake nor I could have done about it. If we had stayed closer then the chances were . . .’ I trailed off. The chances were what? I thought. Perhaps the old boy would still be alive, or perhaps Jake or I would be dead instead. She still acted as though I had not spoken. ‘Do you have anybody to go to once we get to Bermuda? Any family or friends waiting for you?’

Before she could answer her brother, who was approaching from the cockpit, yelled something in Spanish which startled her. Then he turned to me, a wicked looking stiletto held low down in his right hand.

‘I told her not to answer,’ his voice was strained. ‘I know why you want to know. If there is nobody then you will kill us and take all our money. I know you gringos for the cowards and bullies you are.’

‘You take it easy, young fellow,’ I tried to soothe him. ‘Neither Jake nor I are interested in your money. We’ve been paid to deliver you to Bermuda and that’s what we’ll do. I was just being pleasant.’

He must have mistaken the way I spoke, for he suddenly smiled. That is, if the grimace of stretched lips across his teeth could be called a smile. ‘So this little knife makes you realise who the master is, does it?’ He twisted the knife in his hand, the blade gleaming in the sunlight.

‘Don’t talk so bloody stupid, and put that thing away before I take it off you and put you across my knee, you silly little boy.’ As I expected, I infuriated him, and he became even more angry when his sister smiled.