Dangerous Cargo (7 page)

“Put it out!”

All I could see was a wilderness of black piles with the water sucking
around them. After I had blown out the light, she said:

“I can see star-shine a little way off. I’m going to swim for it. Stay
there and guide me back with your voice if I need it.”

I heard the soft splash as the water took her. For a moment or two I could
hear her cautious strokes as she swam away—then silence.

I could never tell you how long a time passed. The one who is left behind
has the hardest job. Nothing to do but clench my teeth and see it through. I
gripped the edge of the hole and stuck my head down, straining my ears. No
sound but an occasional lap of the water like some vast creature licking its
lips. All else silence like total deafness.

Silence…silence, except for the lazy licking of the water and the
beating of my own heart. How long had I been waiting? How long must I go on
waiting? It was easier to go down a rope than to climb up again.

A sound outside the door of my cell jerked me into an upright position as
if I had been electrified. I heard the key thrust into the lock. It creaked.
Quicker than thought I made my choice. Catching hold of the edge of the
floor, I swung down through the hole and let go. The warm water closed over
my head.

When I rose to the surface I was dimly aware of a lighted square above me
with heads sticking over. I heard a guttural voice giving an order. I struck
out blindly. They launched the heavy trap-door through the hole. It struck
the water just behind me with a tremendous splash, sending out a wave that
washed over my head. But I was safe.

My head collided with one of the piles, knocking the sense out of me. As I
choked and struggled in the water a hand closed in my hair. I fought back
blindly. I heard a well-known voice saying: “Easy! Easy, Bella! I’ve got a
boat!” I went limp all over. Somehow I was dragged into the boat, and dropped
in the bottom.

While I lay there gasping, Mme. Storey was shoving the boat along from
pile to pile. We shot out under the starry sky. She sat down and, snatching
up the oars, began to row for our lives. The inlet was something less than a
quarter of a mile wide, I judged, with lights sparkling on the other side.
Close at hand was a huddle of buildings along the shore, with wharves and
go-downs rising blackly against the stars.

She had not taken more than a few strokes when we heard somewhere close
behind us the exhaust of motor-boat as the flywheel was turned over.
Instantly she headed the row-boat under the nearest wharf and took in her
oars. I sat up and helped her push it from pile to pile just as deep under as
we could get. We grounded in the mud of the bank.

Through the piles we had glimpses of the motor-boat, a heavy craft without
much speed. Somebody in it was flashing a powerful light under the wharves as
they went by. We dropped in the bottom of our boat so that no stray beam
might pick up our white faces. A moment or two of agonising suspense and then
we breathed again. We were too deep under and there were too many piles
between; they had passed by. We pushed the boat along under the wharves in
the opposite direction until I judged we were under Feng Lee’s go-down again.
This was the last structure on piles, and we had to come out into the open
beyond. We could see the motor-boat down near the bridge over the mouth of
the inlet, the light still flashing alongshore.

Mme. Storey started rowing across the inlet while I steered with a spare
oar. They could not have heard us owing to the noise of their own engine, but
it was possible they might see us when we came out in the open. But they were
a good way off and we felt that we would be safe once we could land. All the
inhabitants of Willemstad were not thugs.

It was one of those enchanting tropical nights with a cool breeze ruffing
the surface of the water and a multitude of strange stars hanging out their
little lamps. From far off we could hear the sounds of our own kind, and
wished they were nearer; the slam of a door; the whirring of an automobile
starter; a steamship whistle.

The motor-boat down by the bridge suddenly stopped its engine, and we had
a nasty moment of anxiety. Mme. Storey lay on her oars and we bent over
double in the boat, though it was little good that could have done us. The
engine started again, and my employer made the water fly from her oars.
However, we were still safe. They did not come our way.

We were bitterly disappointed to discover that the other shore of the
inlet was swampy. A broad belt of mud separated us from a firm footing; soft
stuff that would certainly have swallowed us to the waist if we had stepped
in it. The buildings on this side were a long way back. We rowed along
towards the bridge looking for a landing.

The motor-boat went under the bridge and disappeared and our hearts rose.
Not for long. The flash of the light warned us that they were returning. They
stopped under the bridge and a man climbed out and took up his station in the
middle of it. They were satisfied that we were still inside.

On our side of the inlet between us and the bridge there were several dark
and empty scows anchored in line. We made haste to reach the nearest one, and
hung close under its shadow, crouching in our boat and watching to see what
the Chinamen would do. This time they headed for our side of the inlet and
began to search around the first scow.

A grim game of hide-and-seek followed. Fortunately for us we were able to
follow their movements and to anticipate them by the reflection of their
flashlight. As they passed around one side of a scow we softly drew ourselves
around to the other. They moved quicker, but we could manoeuvre in a smaller
space.

As they made their way back from scow to scow we were stealing ahead.
Motor-boat and skiff wove a kind of chain in and out between the scows. There
was a moment when the slow chug of the engine passed within fifty feet of us
on the other side of a scow. We could even hear an undertone of whining,
sing-song voices.

Finally they set off towards the head of the inlet. We pulled ahead to the
first scow. Here we were within fifty yards of the bridge with the solitary
figure standing upon it, outlined against the night sky.

“Safety lies on the other side of the bridge,” whispered Mme. Storey. “We
must make a break for it.” I clenched my teeth and hands to keep from
shaking.

“He is certainly armed,” I said.

She made no answer. We waited a little in an agony of indecision. Then we
heard voices approaching. How my heart went out to those unknown speakers!
Three men came in sight walking towards the bridge from the direction of
town.

“Now!” said Mme. Storey. “He won’t dare shoot with others looking on!”

She bent her back to the oars while I stood up in the stern and helped the
best I could by using the third oar as a paddle. With all our efforts we
seemed to crawl like a turtle. The instant we came out from the shadow of the
scow the man on the bridge raised his voice in a long-drawn cry like a
night-bird.

I experienced a hideous moment of fear when I passed beneath the bridge.
But I wasn’t annihilated. When we issued from under the other side three
curious heads were sticking over the rail, watching us. From the inlet we
could hear the motor-boat approaching at its best speed.

About a hundred yards separated us from the great canal connecting the
inner harbour with the sea. Here there were a number of vessels moving back
and forth, amongst them a big tanker nosing her way into the harbour, and a
speedy motor-boat coming out.

The latter was heading directly for us. She had a small searchlight
mounted on the bow. We could hear the loud voices of men aboard; apparently
speaking English. As she came abreast somebody turned the searchlight on us
and instantly there was a chorus of cries.

“By God, fellows, look what’s here!…Hello, girls!…Nice night for a
row!…Come aboard and have a drink!” etc., etc.

Mme. Storey called back: “Give us a tow, boys!”

Instantly they stopped and reversed their engine with a great kick-up
astern. We rowed alongside, and Mme. Storey handed the end of our painter to
a baldheaded old beachcomber who leaned over the side of the launch to take
it.

“Won’t you come aboard, darlings?” he asked, grinning.

“Go ahead,” answered Mme. Storey in a voice so quiet and peremptory that
he meekly turned and made the rope fast around a cleat astern. He gave word
for the engine to be started.

At the same moment the motor-boat with the Chinese aboard issued out of
the inlet. We were jerked forward with a violence that almost threw us on our
backs, and it soon became apparent that the other boat was nowhere as regards
speed. The man who was amusing himself with the searchlight cast it briefly
on the Chinese. Their impassive faces gave nothing away. They followed us for
a little, and then finding it to be useless, went back.

It soon became clear that we had only exchanged one danger for another.
The steersman ahead was as tight as the rest of them, and we pursued a crazy,
zigzag course through the canal. It was only owing to the special Providence
that looks after drunken men that we didn’t hit anything.

Our skiff behaved like a hooked fish, shooting off first to one side, then
the other. Every moment I expected to feel her capsizing under me. Mme.
Storey stationed me in the stern with an oar to steer her, but the speed
almost tore the oar out of my hands. She shouted to the bald-headed man to
shorten the tow line, but he was too foggy to get it. The wash of the
speed-boat roared past like a cataract.

The motor-boat was of the trunk cabin type, with a cockpit astern. There
were about six men aboard her. Two of them arose with drunken impressiveness,
and with their arms full of bottles of beer, stood up on the stern seat and
commenced bombarding us with the bottles. Their aim was bad. Mme. Storey was
able to catch but one.

She cracked off the neck and drank off half the contents, passing the rest
back to me. “Thirsty work!” she said. “Save the bottle!”

We roared through the gap in the pontoon bridge without slackening speed,
and headed out into the open sea. Heaven knows where that drunken crew
thought they were bound for. Luckily the sea was calm. The
Buccaneer
,
with her lines of sparkling lights, came into view off to the right. Mme.
Storey did her best to make the men understand that was where we wanted to
go, but by this time they had their heads together in the cockpit, emitting
what they thought was close harmony, and either they could not or they would
not hear her.

It was a comical situation; terribly dangerous, too. The sea was so vast
and so dark. The
Buccaneer
began to drop astern, and I had visions of
being carried out into that waste of water and swamped while the motorboat
sped on regardless.

Mme. Storey asked me for the broken bottle, and I handed it over. Kneeling
in the bow of the skiff, she sawed at the taut rope with the jagged edge of
glass. Absorbed in their singing, the men had forgotten us for the time
being. The severed ends of the rope leaped into the air, the motor-boat
sprang ahead, and the water ceased to roar past us.

Mme. Storey picked up the oars and started rowing for the yacht. We could
follow the motor-boat by her lights, but as far as they were concerned, we
were immediately swallowed by the night. In a minute or two they stopped, and
we saw the little searchlight swinging wildly around. Then they went on. One
could picture how they shrugged with drunken heedlessness, and let us go.

On the way to the yacht, one of her launches passed us far to the right,
coming off from the town. It was the fancy plate-glass and mahogany affair
that carried the owner and his guests, but she was too far away for us to see
who was aboard. It was then about a quarter to nine.

As we drew near the yacht’s ladder a group of sailors on the boat-deck
were hoisting the launch out of the water. Apparently they did not see us in
the dark. When we stepped out on the little platform Mme. Storey gave the
skiff a thrust with her foot and it drifted away on the tide. As we started
up the ladder the head of a sailor appeared over the rail and was swiftly
withdrawn. We reached the deck just in time to see him scuttling out of sight
up forward.

“Wanzer,” said Mme. Storey dryly.

There was no one else in sight on the promenade. We could hear voices from
the winter-garden above. In our wet and bedraggled state we didn’t want to
meet anyone, and we quietly ran down the companionway to our cabins. On the
stairs we heard the shrill whistle of the boatswain’s whistle on deck,
signifying that the yacht was about to get under way.

“Hm! they didn’t waste much time looking for us,” remarked Mme.
Storey.

WE changed from the skin out, wrapped malines around our
hair to conceal the fact that it was still dampish, and sallied up above.
When we looked out on deck we could see the lights of Willemstad disappearing
astern.

In the pretty green and white winter-garden on the boat-deck, Adrian,
Sophie, Emil and Celia were sitting around sipping planter’s punch. I
expected to create a sensation upon entering, but not a bit of it. They were
not surprised—or if they were; they hid it well. Apparently we had not
been missed.

“Hello,” said Adrain off-hand, “did you dine ashore?”

“No,” said Mme. Storey. This was true, because we hadn’t had any dinner at
all. I wasn’t conscious until that moment that I was hungry.

“Oh, we had a wonderful drive,” said Sophie in her gushing manner.

Sophie paid her way by praising everything up to the skies. “And
afterwards such a dinner in a Chinese restaurant! Feng Lee’s, it was called.
Marvellous food, my dear!”

“Yes, Feng Lee’s a great character,” said Mme. Storey dryly.