Alone, da Gossa removed his shoes, and went over to the table to turn down the lamp. He was very sleepy, but he saw the paper he had just written to Catherine's dictation, and he sat down again and began to read it over. It tallied exactly with other information he had about Cavendish.
He rested his chin in his hands. He rubbed his short mustache and loosened his shirt at the neck. It was hot. It was January, and it was hot. He took off his shirt, threw it over a chair, and turned the lamp out. In the next cabin he heard Catherine moving about; he heard her voice, and then, in the darkness, he stiffened. He heard a man's voice.
He jumped to his feet, and for a second he stood undecided. Then he crossed the cabin, slowly in the blackness, and stepped out into the passageway. In his bare feet he walked soundlessly. At Catherine's door he paused and listened. He tried the latch.
It lifted, but the door was locked. He abandoned all pretense of silence. He knocked, sharply.
"Open!" he ordered.
Almost immediately he heard Catherine answer him. "Certainly!" came her voice, and then he knew she had something to hide, for otherwise she would have asked him why.
The bolt slipped, and he flung the door wide. There was nothing to see, of course, and he said nothing, his ears alert. Had he heard a splash? He started across the cabin toward its gallery, and Catherine almost hurled herself in front of him. He stopped dead.
"What is it?" she cried, seizing his arm.
He shook her free, pushing her aside. His ears still listened for sounds outside the cabin. But he heard nothing now. He ran to
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the gallery, his voice raised; he called out orders. The ship came alive. "On the starboard quarter!" he shouted.
Then he heard a cry, and whirled around.
It was the maid Tina who had cried out. She was on her knees beside Catherine, who had slipped to the floor in a crumpled heap.
"Sangre de Dios," da Gossa growled, his ears still attuned to hear the sounds he wanted to hear—the boats he had ordered over the side to search.
"Help me," Tina said. "Help me!"
Da Gossa stared down at Catherine. Then he leaned down and picked her up in his arms. He stood with her, wondering whether the swoon was genuine, looking down at the closed eyes and white cheeks.
"Put the señora on the bed," Tina said, exasperation in her voice. "Señor, put her down!"
He obeyed. He laid Catherine on the bed; he was still watching her face. There had been a man with her, but he was gone now, and it might be too late to catch him. He was afraid it was too late.
"Raise her head, and I'll give her wine," Tina said, carrying the cup.
Da Gossa said bitterly, "She doesn't need it. The danger's past."
Tina's black eyes gleamed with anger and fear. "Fool!" she said. "Raise her head, and let her have this wine! She has been sick. She is with child!".
Chapter XXVIII
Cavendish's face was preoccupied as he bent over de Ersola's chart of the Philippinas. The charts were good, and complete, even to their warnings. Cavendish took the last draft of ale, and looked at the clock. It was seven; he had just finished his breakfast, and there was need for hurry.
The Desire was anchored between two narrow islands. Her course should be south, and directly on that course, on the chart, was marked neatly, "Danger." Cavendish scratched his head, took one last look at the chart, and got up. The Desire could sail no farther until he himself had gone ahead in the pinnace to take soundings, to find the channel. And in the meantime, these were Spanish waters. He had reached the cabin door when he heard the cry, "Sail ho!" And then it was repeated twice.
Cavendish grabbed for the glass and ran up on deck, and when he saw the small ship that had just rounded the point to the south, his first feeling was one of relief.
"Up anchor, Master Fuller!" he shouted, raising the glass to his eyes.
The Spanish ship was an oared frigate; she bore two sails, and she was sailing close along the shores of Panay.
Aboard the Desire the drums beat to quarters, the men swarmed aloft, the gun ports opened, and Master Fuller's voice was venting obscene epithets on the wind. The wind was so light. Slowly the Desire clawed around to windward; she began to bear down on her quarry slowly.
The guns roared. Moon was finding the range. The Desire came up on the frigate, and Moon himself touched off one of the sacres: the frigate was hit. Her foremast tumbled down on her decks. She struck her sails, and her long oars dipped into the water, rhythmically, flashingly, fast.
The wind dropped. There was no wind. The frigate was draw-
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ing out of range, and Cavendish handed the glass to Havers and ran down to the boat deck.
"Hoist out the pinnace!" he ordered.
Havers watched in dismay.
"Master Moon!" Cavendish shouted. The pinnace splashed into the water. "Bring muskets!"
Cavendish slid down into the boat. Men tumbled after him. Moon joined him in the stern sheets, and the pinnace pulled away from the Desire, with twelve men aboard. And by this time, the frigate had disappeared. There was no sign of her at all.
"There's no use hoisting the sail," Cavendish growled.
"Give way!" Moon commanded, having no idea why his Captain was so intent on risking his life to follow a Spanish frigate.
Cavendish said, "They must not carry word of us!" He paid no further attention to Moon; he was watching the shore.
The oars pulled fast. In fifteen minutes, Cavendish said, "By God, there's a river!"
The river disappeared into Panay like a crawling snake. Trees leaned over the shore; some lay in the water, lifeless, and there were long poles thrust upward along the shore. They saw a few native canoes, long and light.
Cavendish glanced back at the Desire. A hundred feet more would bring the pinnace too much to the leeward of the Desire, and he frowned, murderously. There was still no sign of the frigate.
"There's the wind again, sir," Moon said, heartily.
Cavendish swore. "A devil of a lot of good it does now," he muttered.
"Look, sir!" Moon said, for Cavendish had again glanced back at the Desire, to measure the distance between her and the pinnace.
A large canoe, or balsa, as it was called, had appeared as out of nowhere; she had her oars close to the water through holes, and she was attempting to escape. "Keep athwart her head," Cavendish ordered.
They were overtaking the canoe. There were seven Indians in it and one Spaniard. The natives were terrified; as the pinnace bore down on them, they dove overboard and swam under water until their heads reappeared quite far off, to the amazement of the English seamen. But the lone Spaniard was not such a swimmer.
Cavendish reached out to seize the prow of the long balsa; it was incredibly light and he could hold it by himself. He ordered the
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Spaniard to come aboard his own boat, and the Spaniard complied. Hands pulled him aboard, and he crouched at Cavendish's feet, crying that he was neither soldier nor sailor, but just a servant from a hospital in Manila.
"What are you doing here on Panay?" Cavendish asked.
The pinnace drifted toward shore.
"My master is one of the officers," the Spaniard said. "We came from Manila to man the new ship."
"What new ship?" Cavendish asked, and the men listened, trying to make out the Spaniard's answers, when two things happened at once. The frigate reappeared, and the pinnace ran aground.
Cavendish leaped overboard into the waist-deep water. Moon followed him, and two seamen. They pushed the longboat into deeper water, struggling through the muddy banks. Shots sounded from the beach. About fifty soldiers had appeared on the narrow beach, and musket fire rang out. Bullets whizzed around Cavendish's head.