CHAPTER VIII
JEFFERSON FEELS THE STRAIN
The afternoon was wearing through, but it was still almost insufferablyhot when Jefferson stood with his hand upon the valve of the _Cumbria_'sforward winch. She lay with her bows wedged into the mangrove forest,which crawled on high-arched roots over leagues of bubbling mire to theedge of one of the foulest creeks in Western Africa. It flowed, thickand yeasty, beneath the steamer's hove-up side, for she lay with a listto starboard athwart the stream. There was a bend close by, and heroriginal crew had apparently either failed to swing her round it, whichis an accident that sometimes happens in that country, or driven herashore to save her sinking.
Her iron deck was unpleasantly hot, and the negroes who crossed itbetween hatch and surfboat hopped. They, of course, wore no boots, and,indeed, very little of anything at all beyond a strip of cotton roundtheir waists. There was not a breath of wind astir, and the saturatedatmosphere, which was heavy with the emanations of the swamps, seemed toseal the perspiration in the burning skin. Jefferson felt the veins onhis forehead swollen to the bursting point when he stopped the winch andlooked about him while the Spaniards slipped a sling over a palm-oilpuncheon in the hold below.
He could see nothing but a strip of dazzling water, and the dingy,white-stemmed mangroves which stretched away farther than the eye couldfollow, and sighed as he glanced back at the _Cumbria_. She lay withdeck unpleasantly slanted and one bilge in the mire, a rusty, two-mastedsteamer, with the blistered paint peeling off her, and the burnt awningshanging from their spars. He did not expect much water in that creekuntil the wet season, and in the meanwhile it was necessary to heave thecoal and cargo out of her and send it down stream to a neighbouringbeach. It was very slow work with the handful of men he had, and thosefew weeks had set their mark on Jefferson.
He had never been a fleshy man, and long days of feverish toil under aburning sun and in the steamy heat of the flooded holds had worn him toskin and bone. His duck garments hung with a significant slackness abouthis gaunt frame, and they were rent in places, as well as blackened andsmeared with oil. His face was grim and hollow, but there was a fiercesteadfastness in his eyes, which seemed filled with curious brilliancy.
"Are you going to sleep down there? Can't you send up another cask?" hesaid.
A voice came up from the dusky hatch, out of which there flowed a hot,sour smell of palm oil and putrefying water. "The next tier's jammed upunder the orlop beams," it said. "We might get on a little if we couldbreak a puncheon out."
Jefferson laid his hands upon the combing of the hatch and swung himselfover. It was a drop of several yards, and he came down upon the slipperyround of a big puncheon, and reeling across the barrels, fell backwardsagainst an angle-iron. He was, however, up again in a moment, and stoodblinking about him with eyes dazzled by the change from the almostintolerable brightness above. Blurred figures were standing more thanankle deep in water on the slanted rows of puncheons, and Jefferson,who could not see them very well, blinked again when an Englishman,stripped to the waist, moved towards him. The latter was dripping withyellow oil and perspiration.
"It's this one," he said, and kicked a puncheon viciously. "Thederrick-crabs have pulled the tops of the staves off her. They're soakedan' soft with oil. The water underneath's jamming them up, an' you'llsee how the tier's keyed down by the orlop-beams."
Jefferson wrenched the iron bar he held away from him and turned to therest.
"There's a patch of the head clear. Two or three of you get a handspikeon to it," he said. "No, shove it lower down. Mas abajo. Now, heave alltogether. Vamos. Toda fuerza!"
They were barefooted Canary Spaniards, of an astonishing ignorance, butexcellent sailormen, and they understood him. Lean, muscular bodiesstrained and bent, the dew of effort dripped from them; and, as heheaved with lips set, the hollows grew deeper in Jefferson's grim face.No one spoke; there was only a deep, stertorous gasping, until thepuncheon moved a little, and Jefferson, stooping, drove his bar a triflelower. Then, while he strained every muscle and sinew in strenuouseffort, the great, slimy barrel rose again, tilted, and rolled out onits fellows. For a moment it left a space of oily black water where ithad been, and then the puncheons closed in with a crash again. Jeffersonflung the bar down and straightened himself.
"Now," he said wearily, "you can get ahead."
He crawled up the ladder with a curious languidness, and while one ofthe Englishmen apostrophised the puncheons the Spaniards went back totheir task. The Castilian is not supposed to be remarkable fordiligence, but there is, at least among the lower ranks of men in whomthe Iberian blood flows, a capacity for patient toil and uncomplainingendurance which, while not always very apparent, nevertheless showsitself unmistakably under pressure of circumstances. These were simplemen, who had never been encouraged to think for themselves, and were,therefore, like other Spaniards of their degree, perhaps, incapable ofundertaking anything on their own initiative, but they could do a greatdeal under the right leader, and they had him in Jefferson.
One of the Englishmen, however, was not quite satisfied. He had been inthe tropics before, and did not like the curious flush in Jefferson'sface or the way the swollen veins showed on his forehead, so he climbedthe ladder after him and leaned upon the winch-drum looking at himmeditatively. The man was very ragged as well as very dirty, andaltogether disreputable, so far as appearance went, while it is probablethat in several respects his character left a good deal to be desired.
"Here's your hat. It's wet, but that's no harm," he said. "You forgotit. Hadn't you better put it on quick?"
Jefferson, who recognised the wisdom of this, did so.
"That's all right! Well, what--are--you stopping for?" he said.
The other man still regarded him contemplatively. "I know my place--butthings isn't quite the same aboard this 'ooker as they would be on abig, two-funnel liner. You couldn't expect it. That's why I come up justnow to speak to you. You're not feelin' well to-day?"
"It's not worth worrying about. I guess nobody but a nigger ever doesfeel well in this country."
The other man shook his head. "You go slow. I've seen it comin' on," hesaid. "You oughtn't to 'a' had your hat off a minute. You see, if youdrop out, how's Bill an' me to get the bonus you promised us?"
Jefferson laughed, though he found, somewhat to his concern, that hecould not see the man very well.
"I'm going to hold up until I knock the bottom of this contract out," hesaid, good-humouredly. "I can't do it if I stop and talk to you. Get amove on. Light out of this!"
The man went back. He had done what he felt was his duty, though he hadnot expected that it would be of very much use, and Jefferson startedthe winch. It hammered and rattled, and the barrels came up, slimy anddripping, with patches of whitewash still clinging to them. The glare ofit dazzled Jefferson until he could scarcely see them as they swungbeneath the derrick-boom, but he managed to drop them into the surfboatalongside and pile the rest on deck, when she slid down the creek with arow of negroes paddling on either side. The steamer had struck theforest at the time of highest water, and it was necessary to takeeverything out of her if she was to be floated during the coming rainyseason.
He toiled on for another hour, with a racking pain in his head, and theCanarios toiled in the stifling hold below, until there was a jar and arattle, and a big puncheon that should have gone into the surfboat camedown with a crash amidst them, and, bursting, splashed them with yellowoil. Then the man who had remonstrated with Jefferson went up the ladderin haste. The winch had stopped, and Jefferson lay across it, amidst acoil of slack wire, with a suffused face. The man, who stooped over him,shouted, and the rest who came up helped to carry him to his roombeneath the bridge. The floor was slanted so that one could scarcelystand on it, and as the berth took the same list, they laid him wherethe side of it met the bulkhead. He lay there, speechless, withhalf-closed eyes, and water and palm oil soaking from him.
"Now," said the man who had given Jeffer
son good advice, "you'll getthese Spaniards out of this, Bill. Then you'll go on breaking thepuncheons out. Wall-eye, here, can run the winch for you, but you cancome back in half an hour when I've found out what's wrong with theskipper."
Bill seemed to recognise that his comrade had risen to the occasion."Well," he said, "I s'pose there's no use in me sayin' anything. All Iwant to know is, how you're going to do it?"
"See that?" and the other man pointed to a chest beneath the settee."It's full of medicines, an' there's a book about them. Good ole Boardof Trade!"
"How d'you know those medicines arn't all gorn?" asked Bill.
"They arn't. I've been in. There's a bottle of sweet paregoricky stuff Icame round for a swigg of when Mr. Jefferson wasn't there now and then.It warms you up kind of comfortin'."
Bill went away with the Spaniards, and, in place of improving theoccasion by looking for liquor, as he might, perhaps, have been expectedto do, went on with his task. The English sailorman does not alwaysexpress himself delicately, but he is, now, at least, very far frombeing the dissolute, unintelligent ruffian he is sometimes supposed tobe. There is no doubt of this, for shipowners know their business, andwhile there is no lack of Teutons and cheerful, sober Scandinavians, acertain proportion of English seamen still go to sea in English ships.The man who sat in Jefferson's room could, at least, understand thetreatise in the medicine chest, although it was one approved by theBoard of Trade, which august body has apparently no great fondness forlucid explanations. He was, however, still pouring over it when hiscomrade thrust his head into the doorway again, and it is possible thatJefferson had not suffered greatly from the fact that he had not as yetquite decided on any course of treatment.
"Well," said the newcomer, "I s'pose you know what he--has--got?"
"Come in, an' sit down there," said the other. "It's fever, for onething--I've seen it coming on--an' sunstroke for another. What I'm stuckat is if I'm to treat them both together."
Bill looked reflective. "I think I'd take them one at a time. Get thesunstroke out of him, an' then go for the fever. How d' you start on it,Tom?"
"Undo his clothes. That's easy. The buttons is mostly off them, an' hehas hardly any on. Then you put cold water on his head."
"That's not easy, anyway! Where the blazes are you going to get coldwater from?"
It was somewhat of a paradox, for while there is plenty of water inWestern Africa, none of it is cold. Tom, however, was once more equal tothe occasion.
"We could get a big spanner from the engine room, an' put it on hishead," he said. "There's plenty of them. S'pose you go an' bring one.Any way, we'll swill him with the coldest water we can get."
They laid a soaked singlet upon his head with a couple of iron spannersunder it, and then sat down to watch the effect. Somewhat to theirastonishment, it did not appear to do him any appreciable good. Darknessclosed down as they waited, and it seemed to grow hotter than ever,while the thick white steam rose from the swamps. Tom stood up andlighted the lamp.
"The fever's easier," he said. "I've had it. You give him themixture--it's down in the book--though I don't know what the meaning ofall these sign things is. That starts him perspiring, an' then it'sthick blankets. We used to give them green-lime water in the mailboats."
"Where's the green limes?" said Bill. "Any way, I'd give the sunstroke adecent chance first. Perhaps he'll come out of it himself. I don't knowthat it wouldn't be better if he did."
Jefferson came out of his limp unconsciousness into a raving deliriumthat night, and they rolled him in two blankets, while Bill, being lefton watch, wisely threw away the draught his comrade had concocted.Jefferson was also very little more sensible during the next few days,and, though the work went on, before the week was over the two lonelyEnglishmen found they had another difficulty to grapple with. The sunwas almost overhead, and the iron deck, insufferably hot, when thesurfboat negroes, who had just finished their meal, came forwardtogether, eight or nine big, naked men, with animal faces and splendidmuscles. Nobody knew where they came from, but when two or three of themappeared in a canoe, Jefferson had managed to make them understand thathe was willing to pay them for their services, and they forthwith wentaway, and came back with several comrades and a man of shorter staturewho had apparently worked on a steamboat or at a white man's factory.They had worked tolerably well while Jefferson was about to watch them,but they had now apparently decided on another mode of behaviour, forthe attitude of their leader was unmistakably truculent. The man calledBill, sitting on the fore hatch, turned at the patter of naked feet, andlooked at him.
"Well," he said sharply, "what the ---- are you wanting?"
"Two bokus them green gin," said the negro. "Two lil' piece of cloffevery boy."
Tom laughed ironically. "There isn't any green gin bokus in the ship,for one thing. You'll get your cloth-piece when the work is done. That'sall I've got to say to you. Get out of this!"
The negro made a little forceful gesture. "You no cappy."
"Well," said Bill, drily, "he figures he's a bloomin' admiral in themeanwhile, and that's good enough for you. Go home again, and don'tworry me."
"Two cloff-piece," said the negro. "Two cloff-piece every boy. You nolib for get them, we come down too much boy an' take them 'teamboat fromyou."
The white men looked at one another, and it was evident that they wereuncertain how far the negro might be able to make good his threat. Therewas, as it happened, very little to prevent him doing it, and stockadedfactories, as well as stranded steamboats, have been looted in WesternAfrica. Still, they remembered that they had the prestige of theircolour to maintain.
"Oh, get out one time!" said Tom.
The negro turned upon him. "You no cappy. You low, white 'teamboatbushman. Too much boy he lib for come down one night an' cut you big fatt'roat."
Bill, who was big and brawny, rose with an air of sorrowful resignation."This ---- nonsense has got to be stopped," he said, and walkedtranquilly towards the negro. "You wouldn't listen to reason,Black-funnel-paint."
Then, before the latter quite realised what had happened to him, a grimyfist descended upon his jaw, and as he staggered backwards somebodyseized his shoulders and whirled him round. In another moment Billkicked with all his might, and the negro went out headlong through theopen gangway into the creek alongside. In the meanwhile the Spaniardscame tumbling from the hatch, and, though they were quiet men, theycarried long Canary knives. The sight of them was enough for thenegroes, and they followed their leader, plunging from the gangway orover the rail. Their canoes still lay beneath the quarter, and thoughTom hurled a few big lumps of coal on them as they got under way, theywere flying up the creek in another minute, with paddles flashing.
Then Bill explained the affair to the Canarios as well as he could, andafterward drew his comrade back into the shadow of the deck-house tohold a council. Both of them felt somewhat lonely as they blinked at thedesolation of dingy mangroves which hemmed them in. There was, so far asthey knew, not a white man in that part of Africa, and the intentions ofthe negroes were apparently by no means amicable.
"Funnel-paint may come back an' bring his friends," said Tom. "I don'tknow what's to stop him if he wants to. There's not a gun in the shipexcept Mr. Jefferson's pistol, an' those Canary fellows' knives, an' wecan't worry Mr. Jefferson about the thing when he's too sick tounderstand. If I'd only begun on him for fever he might have beenbetter."
"I'm thankful," said Bill, "as he isn't dead. It wouldn't be veryastonishing, but that don't matter."
"You'd think it mattered a good deal if you was Mr. Jefferson. If Iwasn't that anxious about him I'd let you try your hand an' see how easyit is worrying out that book. As it is, one of us is enough."
"I'm thinking," said Bill sourly, "as it's a ---- sight too much!"
Tom glared at him a moment, for one of the effects that climate has upona white man's nerves is to keep him in a state of prickly irritation;but he was more anxious than he cared to confess, too anxious, indee
d,to force a quarrel.
"Well," he said, "I'll ask you what you mean another time. Just now,we've got to do a little for Mr. Jefferson and a little for ourselves.Eight pound a month, all found, and a fifty-pound bonus when he gets heroff, isn't to be picked up everywhere, and, of course, there's notelling when you an' me may get the fever. Now, then, we want a boss whoisn't sick, an' more men, as well as a doctor."
"Of course. How're you goin' to get 'em?"
"Not here. They don't grow in the swamps. Somebody's got to go for them,an' Las Palmas is the best place. You could find a West-coast mailboatgoin' home if you went down the creek in the launch. They've a man ortwo sick in the engine room most trips, an' they'd be glad to take youfirin'. Now, before Mr. Jefferson got that sunstroke he showed me twoenvelopes. If he was to peg out sudden I was to see the men in LasPalmas got them, and they'd tell me what to do. Men do peg out at anytime in this country. Well, you look for a liner an' take those letters.If it's a good boat she'll only be four or five days steaming up thetrades. Mr. Jefferson deserves a chance for his life."
"What's wrong with takin' him, too; or all of us goin', for thatmatter?" asked his companion.
"Eight pounds a month, an' a bonus! Besides, Mr. Jefferson put all hismoney into getting this ship off. If he comes round an' finds it thrownaway he's not going to be grateful to either of us."
Bill sat silent, evidently thinking hard for a minute or two. "Well," hesaid, "there's sense in the thing, an' I'll try it. You'll be all rightwith those Canariers. They're nice quiet men, an' if you make 'em say itover lots of times you can generally understand 'em. Wall-eye can bringthe launch back. I'll get out of this when we've steam up."
It was two hours later when he and one of the Canarios who had worked onboard the coaling company's tug departed, and the rest, clustering alongthe _Cumbria_'s rail, watched them wistfully as the little clankingcraft slid down the creek. They would very much have liked to have gonein her, and might have done so had not Jefferson had the forethought topromise them a small share of the profit when the work was done, and fedthem well. There are also men who inspire confidence in those they lead,and sailormen capable of carrying out a bargain. Thus there were no openexpressions of regret or misgivings when the last of the launch'ssmoke-trail melted above the mangroves, though Tom looked very grave ashe clawed the shoulder of an olive-faced Canario seaman who did notunderstand him.
"If that man goes on the loose with what he gets for firin', an' forgetsall about those letters, it won't be nice for us," he said. "In themeanwhile, we've just got to buck up and lighten the blame oldscrap-iron tank between us."
He called her a few other names while the Spaniard watched him, smiling,and, having so relieved himself, went softly into the skipper's room,where Jefferson lay, a worn-out shadow of a man, wrapped in very dirtyblankets, and babbling incoherently.