He laughed. "Can I believe you?"
"This time," said Lola. She was pleased that he was so amused, for his laughter rang forth. She smiled at him.
"Your face is as vivid as a flower," he said.
"What flower?" she asked.
He studied her. "Not an English flower. You are as much unlike a primrose as anything I've ever seen. But perhaps you are as vivid as a white rose, at morning, with drops of dew and deep green leaves. With thorns."
"I have no thorns," she said.
"I fear you do."
"But why did you go to see Catherine last night?"
"Ah," he said, "here come the thorns we were speaking of so blithely. I wanted to speak with her, Lola, because I like her very much."
"You like her better than me?"
He sighed. "No. I like her differently."
"Why did you not take me with you?"
"Because I truly did not think of it."
"Oh," said Lola. They had come out of sight of the camp by now. "I think of you all the time."
Smiling, he said, "Do you?"
"And I know the señora. She painted a picture of me. So." She stopped walking and struck imaginary castanets up in the air. "I am a good dancer," she added proudly, the earrings he had given her swaying as she moved her head. "I dance for you tonight, señor."
She stood before him and he reached for her. "Will you?" he asked, looking down at her upturned face.
She arched one slender eyebrow. "For the others, too, I dance."
He lifted his hand playfully.
"The Señora Catherine," said Lola, "painted on deck, and I would weary of posing and then we would go under the awning and drink a little wine and talk. So much talk! Not like you."
He laughed.
"You talk to me, a little every day ... If you should see the señora tonight will you take me, then? Please, David." She drew out his name the way she always did.
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"I might," he said. "I might."
They had walked toward the river and up its beach when the first shot sounded.
David stood stockstill for a moment, and then he started to run, dragging Lola behind him, then slowing a little to allow her to keep up with him. Cavendish and Catherine passed them in the longboat, and by the time David got to the tents, Catherine had been in her tent for a few minutes. He stopped in the doorway.
"What happened?" he asked, breathlessly.
"I don't know, David," she said.
David said, "I'll be off, Catherine. Good-bye, Lola." He strode off, and Lola went, as usual, to the tent flap to watch him go and to watch until she could see him no longer.
Back aboard, Master Fuller told him he was wanted on the Captain's deck.
David didn't have time to ask what had happened. Cavendish said, "You'll accompany me, sir."
"Aye, sir," said David, glancing at Havers, who was silent and grave. David followed the two men down to the lower deck and into the waiting boat. Moon was there too.
Brule was waiting for them on the Content. David peered curiously around as he stepped aboard. The crew was lined up, and Brule and his officers stood a little apart; Brule came forward to greet Cavendish, and David, behind them, saw then the two shrouded figures on the deck.
As if Cavendish's coming were signal, Brule stepped before the mast and said a short prayer, and the two bodies were heaved over the side. One of them was William Byet. In the quiet, Cavendish took a step to stand at Brule's side. He replaced his cap; he was facing the late afternoon sun, and his eyes were squinting a trifle in his tanned face as he soberly surveyed the twenty officers and men who made up the Content's crew. David watched his brother's face as he started to speak.
"This afternoon two of your number engaged in an armed quarrel about the Santa Anna. One Lawrence Gamesby, of Newcastle, was killed by musket fire. William Byet died instantly, his skull crushed with a belaying pin. They both saved me the trouble of hanging them."
Cavendish pushed his cap sideways to shield his eyes.
"These two men started the quarrel with men from the Desire by complaining that the gold aboard the Santa Anna was not being
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properly divided, and, further, that the company of the Desire was being favored. It is a pity that two men should lose their lives through a lie, and, worse, endanger other lives. It is even more of a pity that our number should be reduced by two when we need all hands."
He stopped for a moment to let his eyes sweep the men facing him.
"Now about the gold," he said. "It comes to the amount of one hundred and twenty thousand pieces, as you well know. That gold shall be divided in England by an Admiralty court, but—the amount you will each be awarded is already aboard the Content, stowed below."
Again he paused. "It shall not, under any condition, be divided and put into your hands yet. Your first task is to sail that flag—" he gestured to it—"back to England, and under my command. The flag that flies there also flies on the Desire's mizzen. Look over and see it."
The reaction he hoped for was very apparent. He was conscious of extreme relief. There was no real trouble aboard the Content. Now he could say more, and say what he wanted to tell them.
"You shall be able to boast that you took that flag around the world. For let us ask ourselves an honest question: was it gold that sent us forth? Only gold? It comes to me, as we stand here, on this ship, under the shadow of a great continent, that, then, it was a quite unworthy cause for which to dare the life you were given.
"Look at the land. Over those mountains, up that coast, is gold, lying in the soil. I saw it. You could put your hand in the soil, and in the rocky creek beds, and pick it up. But that is not half so wonderful as the land itself. Those towering mountains, the deep wide valleys, the rich soil, the magnificent harbors. Do you realize, do you know, that because you've sailed here, because you've proved that it can be done, other men can come, and that some day men and women shall live in that valley and on that coast, and till the soil, and build cities—because you dared to sail a ship? In my cabin are charts that you helped me draw. You know our seamen need them. This great land needs them, for it is waiting for birth. Never have you or I seen, nor ever again shall we see, a land so mighty and marvelous as this land of America. You should thank God that you had courage enough to help it begin to grow, even though the part we do is small."
David heard Cavendish's voice stop. This was his creed, then,
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this the single motive that drove him on. His expanding age had made him to measure for his times, and fitted him for its needs. Then David realized Cavendish was not finished.
"The seventeenth of this month is Coronation Day. We are far from home, but not too far to celebrate Her Majesty's accession to the throne of England. I believe that our Bess will like to know, some months from now, that here in California we toasted her with Spanish wine, and with the guns of the Desire and the Content; that, for the first time in California, rockets burst up into the skies. We will celebrate on the beaches, with freshly roasted pork, and we shall ask the Spanish to join us. It shan't be the last time for fireworks in California, I warrant, but it will be the first time, in the honor of your Queen and mine. In honor of Englandl"
The men cheered. David found himself smiling. He was standing near Brule and Cavendish, and he heard his brother say to Brule, "They're glad this business is over with and they can look forward to going ashore tonight." He laughed, and Brule shook hands with him, and Brule didn't dismiss his crew until Cavendish was in his own longboat again, pulling back to the Desirie. Then Brule left the rail, conscious of extreme relief, too.
David was silent during the short row. He was sitting alongside Havers and he wanted to talk, but he couldn't, and he watched the muscled arms of the crewmen who handled the long oars like toys. He waited impatiently for Cavendish to go up the ladder, and he waited for Havers; then he clambered up himself, and saw Cavendish's figure aft.