"Sir, I've come to surrender myself."
Flores measured David with his eyes. In Flores' nostrils was the smell of charred wet wood; the mist floated past him, bringing the stink of the wet wood off the sea. He looked at David; he noticed one of his men named Sebastian had come and was standing close behind David, his eyes fixed on his Captain.
"You are a brave man," Flores said aloud. "Your action has saved our ship."
Sebastian nodded vigorously.
David said, "Thank you, sir. When I left her now, she put me in mind of the Ark."
Flores stared at David.
"Like the Ark," David continued, "she will sail you to safety." He was conscious only of intense weariness; even the pain in his hands was seconded to the deep desire only for a place to sprawl out. With detached envy he glanced at the men lying on the beach, half asleep.
He was not conscious of fear. Flores would not hang him immediately, he was sure. Flores was too kindhearted; he would allow his prisoner at least until tomorrow morning, at six. David tried to stifle a yawn. But Flores was still silent, his eyes filled with a kind of excitement. He held up his hand, and said slowly, "Sir, you have come to surrender yourself. But I do not accept it!"
David's arm tightened about Lola. "I thank you again, sir," he said.
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"You are weary," Flores said. "This morning I learned why you mutinied against your brother. I cannot take your life. I am proud to welcome you among us. I shall give you all the aid I can. Even in Acapulco, for some day we shall land there. In our Ark."
"Gracias, señor," David repeated. He felt dizzy; he lifted his head and drew a deep breath. "Buenas noehes, señor," he said.
He walked the short distance to Lola's tent. She gave him wine, and he lay down on the pine bed. Lola pulled off the heavy boots. She gave him more wine; there was cold fish, and she fed it to him in her fingers, while her tears dropped steadily down her cheeks. He slept for a few minutes while she brought water.
She bathed his face and neck. She rubbed salve on the injured hands, and bound them up with strips of cloth torn from a petticoat. He dozed, and when he wakened at eleven, she fed him again, a thick broth of dried peas.
"It's good," he said, lying on his side, while she fed him with a spoon.
"Catherine lent me the spoon," Lola said. "Here, my love, you've not eaten it all."
"I shall," he said.
He finished the broth. He drank another cup of wine. Then he raised himself on his elbow and looked around the bare tent. Lola followed his eyes. His only shirt was soaking in a bucket of water.
"I shall mend your shirt," she said.
His mind was in the future. "It will be weeks before we can sail," he said. "We must fashion sails from this canvas."
Lola smoothed his hair. "It gives me great pleasure to do for you, David," she said. "Catherine has gold, though. From your brother, for you. I told her you would not take it." She stopped suddenly, and gazed at him. "Was that right, David?"
He regarded her long.
"Was that right, my lord?" she whispered. "You do not want his gold, do you?"
He said only, "Hand me that boot, Lola."
She obeyed.
"Now reach in and lift the lining."
Her fingers felt for the lining. It lifted easily. She withdrew her hand. Gold lay in her palm.
"Put it back," he said. "I have all we need. And some jewels. Put it back, now, and give me both boots. I'm going to place them alongside me, over here."
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Lola put the boots alongside him, as he asked. "Can you sleep now?" she asked.
"Aye. Come here to me."
She put out the lamp. He felt her lie down beside him. He turned over on his stomach, drawing her close to him, leaving his arm across her, laying his head on her breast.
"Good night," he said sleepily. "If I'm too heavy, push me off."
Chapter XXIV
Aboardship, Cosmos always rose at five, he rolled up the mat he slept on, dressed in the dark, and slipped out for water for his Captain.
He appeared in the galley just as the stoves were being fed their morning quota of wood. Cosmos filled a tin basin and set it atop the galleystove to heat. Then he disappeared in the direction of the head.
By the time he returned, the water was beginning to steam. It was still dark. The cook put a cup of wine and water in front of Cosmos.
"Thank you," said Cosmos gratefully. He did not always get an extra cup of wine. He watched the water.
"Here's the other basin," the cook said cheerfully. "How's the Captain?"
"Still asleep," Cosmos replied.
"We're under very short sail," the cook said. "They say he expects to sight land soon."
"So?" said Cosmos.
The cook grinned. "You never know anything, do you? Your water's hot."
"I take it," said Cosmos, flipping open a clean towel; he held the basin with the linen. "Thank you for the wine."
He made his way aft with care, for the water was very hot. Inside the cabin, he lighted the lamp, and began to sharpen a razor. He filled a cup with cool water, and laid out the implements for his master's toilet.
Cavendish stirred in his sleep. Cosmos turned quickly to watch him, his almond eyes intent on his master. Cavendish muttered something; Cosmos listened. Then Cavendish said, quite clearly, "David!"
Cosmos turned away; if his Captain should wake, Cosmos did
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not want to be caught staring. He heard Cavendish sit up. There was a moment's silence, and then Cavendish said, "Good morning, Cosmos."
"Good morning, sir," Cosmos replied.
Cavendish stretched his arms over his head and yawned. Cosmos handed him his toothbrush and the water.
"The stars are still out, sir," he said.
Cavendish drank off the water. He stripped off his rumpled shirt, and Cosmos looked at his naked chest and shoulders with admiration.
"You want hurry?" he asked.
Cavendish didn't answer. Cosmos slipped a clean shirt over his head. Cosmos was used to his silence. The Captain never changed, Cosmos thought.
"We sight land this morning?" he asked, as he stood over Cavendish, razor in hand.
"Perhaps," Cavendish said.
"I hurry, then," said Cosmos.
He was very deft. "Some day you have mustache, sir?"
Cavendish smiled. "I used to wear one, in England," he said.
"Perhaps again, then?" Cosmos spoke hopefully.
Again there was no answer. Cosmos finished, dried the razor, and tied the lacing at the throat of Cavendish's shirt. Cavendish stood up.
"I'll return in thirty minutes," he said, as always. He closed the door behind him, and Cosmos went to work to clean up the cabin. It was always this way; it never changed. Cavendish was always on deck to see the sunrise. For thirty minutes each morning, he paced the poopdeck alone, while the world grew light. It had been this way for seven weeks. Even on the mornings on which they had still hoped to see the Content, it was the same. Now Cosmos knew there was no hope of ever seeing the Content again. The Captain had mustered the crew to speak to them about it, and he had said that he believed the Content had been lost that night in the mist; and he had bid them bow their heads and repeat a prayer with him. He said they must have faith.
Cosmos had been standing next to Tyler. He had tried to follow the words Tyler had repeated. Tyler had never taken his eyes off his Captain, and Cosmos whispered, after Cavendish was done speaking, "He is wonderful man, is he not?"
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"He is—" Tyler began, and then broke off. "He's a better shot than I am even, Cosmos."
This morning Cosmos hurried. It was getting light. Through the porthole he could see the sea heaving and gray, and Cosmos jumped to put out the lamp. He had forgotten to do it as soon as it was light in the cabin. And he had very strict orders never to allow the lamp to burn after it was not needed. Guiltily he gathered the wet towels and the basin, and struggled out with them.