As Cavendish had expected, the scant wind and the bulk of the Galeon, his new ship, allowed the Desire and the Blake to go ahead. At dawn, he did not see them on the sea. Sunday night he anchored outside the bar at Santos, almost a full day later than the Desire, which rode nattily at anchor in the dusky evening light. Cavendish wondered whether it would ever not be a joy to see her once more.
The Galeon had no sooner thrown over her anchors, than a longboat was hoisted over the side of the Desire, and Cavendish saw Davis clamber into it. Captain Cocke was with him. Cavendish did not think it odd. He waited in his own cabin for them, a smile on his face. But the smile disappeared as soon as he saw Davis' face.
Davis was in a difficult position. He did not know how to begin his tale. Cavendish asked sharply, "You took the town?"
"Aye, sir. This morning, as you said."
Cavendish heaved a sigh of relief. "Good," he said.
"The people were in church, as you said. We surrounded it—I did—with but twenty-four men, who had come ashore with me in my longboat. We guarded the church."
"Good," said Cavendish, more heartily. "You lost no men?"
"None, sir."
"Then you immediately began to provision?"
Davis said slowly, "No, sir, I did not."
Cavendish's tanned face hardened. He brought his fist down on the table. "Why?" he asked.
Davis could not help throwing a swift glance at Captain Cocke, and Cavendish saw it. He turned to Cocke. "Suppose you tell me," he said, "why you did not immediately secure the food?"
Cocke cried. "The Indians carried off the food! They escaped and ran off into the hills! They took everything!"
There was quiet in the Galeon's great richly paneled cabin. Moon
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looked incredulous and contemptuous; Pretty paid scant attention to Cocke and his confession of failure; he was wondering what Cavendish was going to do.
Cavendish said, "While Captain Davis took and held the town, you allowed the Indians to make away with the food we needed?"
Cocke said despairingly, "Aye, sir. It happened like lightning! They were there, and then they were gone! And the town as clean as a whistle!" Cocke had jumped to his feet, as he explained, for Cavendish himself had risen. Cocke was standing between him and the cabin door.
Cavendish reached out one hand and took Cocke by the front of the shirt. "You incompetent fool," he said quietly, and pushed him aside.
He walked to the door and threw it open. He would have to go to the town of Santos himself and see if he could repair the damage that was already done. There was a faint hope that it was not irreparable.
He took Davis with him. Men from the Desire still patroled the town, and its inhabitants had been relieved of all weapons. Davis had done his part, but Davis did not think so. He blamed himself, and he said so, briefly, shyly.
Cavendish said, "You are not to blame, sir."
The boat pulled swiftly toward the town, and Cavendish watched the black water and the white breakers on the beach. He jumped out onto the sand.
Ashore, he conferred with the mayor of the town, seeking now to get by treaty what he had failed to get by force. In addition to that, he posted a guard at each house. In the morning they searched Santos again. They obtained cassavi meal, and that was all.
"With your permission, sir, we could roast a few Indians," Moon said.
Pretty laughed. He had an idea that the intrepid Moon would eat Indians, too. He glanced sideways at Moon, wonderingly.
"And as far as pursuing those Indians up into the mountains, why, they might as well be as far away as the Pacific, sir," Moon went on. "As if you didn't know it, Captain," he added.
Cavendish looked up from the list he had been making.
"We'll make many a meal from meal," Moon said, with a grin. "By God, we'll have a meal cake for Christmas."
"If you'd stop talking, Moon," Cavendish said, "I might be able to."
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Moon sat down in one of the chairs. "Fire away, sir," he said.
"Captain Cocke/' said Cavendish, speaking the name indifferently, "carries the most part of our remaining victuals. He'll be relieved of those today, Moon. Here's the list. In the event of his foundering, or losing the fleet between here and Port Desire, we shan't have lost the most part of our food. And since we don't have much time, we'll set sail tomorrow for Port Desire."
"Aye, sir," said Moon. He stood up. He left the cabin. He wasn't worried. Pie depended on Cavendish. And the Galeon was new and sturdy; her great masts rose over his head, towering upward. Even though the worst part of the voyage lay ahead, even though the rations would be short from now on, Moon wasn't worried. He looked down at the list in his hand. The first thing to do was to get the food from the Blake aboard the Galeon. For Moon did know that Captain Cocke had shown incompetence, and after that, he might show cowardice. He might desert. Moon settled his cap firmly and made ready to relieve Captain Cocke of his list of foodstuffs and wine and ale. It would be a pleasure, he told himself. . . .
On Christmas Day the first bad storm blew down on the Galeon and the Desire. The storm lasted three days, and when its might was spent, the Galeon was alone on the seas as they surged heavily across her bows. The Galeon was alone; she had been blown way off her course. She had lost her fleet and she would not see the Desire again for almost three months.
They were long months. Close hauled under the gales, the Galeon fought the fury of the South Atlantic, and her seamen endured with her. They were as tough as her hewn timbers. They buttoned their jackets close, and wore woolen caps pulled down over their heads. Master Fuller got sick, but in four days he was up and around again, bellowing orders in the teeth of a fresh storm. Moon's round face was thinned, but his obscene expletives came as sharply as before, and Pretty was growing a beard; Moon avowed it would keep him warmer, and Tyler had decided to grow one too, even though the Captain shaved himself each morning, as usual.
"I'm getting used to this," Moon said to Pretty, in their own cabin, as he changed his wet clothes for some that were at least not wringing wet. "I'm always wet, Pretty," he said. "You see, I'm working up to bedding a mermaid."
"You'll be in fine shape," Pretty said.
"It'll be worse, soon," Moon said cheerfully. "We are in forty degrees now. The roaring forties. More gales, sir."
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Pretty said, "I've been here before."
"You're as mad as I am. There must be something rotten in our heads." He finished lacing his boots. The Galeon pitched and Moon stumbled. "Oh, land, where art thou?" he asked. "Good-bye, Pretty. Get some sleep, if you can."
On this he left the cabin. Cavendish was on deck, talking to Fuller. The men were building a longboat. In the last storm the Galeon had lost all her boats. The gray Atlantic heaved itself; a mountainous roller bore down on the Galeon; the ship lifted; the roller washed across the decks and through the scuppers. The sea settled itself again, lazily, after the effort.
"I think the sun's coming out," Cavendish said. He was looking to the west. Sun broke through the clouds. Cavendish spoke to Tyler, who was on his knees, hammer in hand.
"Fetch my glass, will you, Tyler?" he asked. "And bring out those wet clothes of mine; string them up on the poop."
"Aye, sir," said Tyler, spitting three nails out of his mouth. He rose.
"I'll take the nails," said Cavendish, holding out his hand. He knelt down in Tyler's place and began to hammer with quick, even strokes. Fuller thought he took pleasure in it; he was watching Cavendish when Tyler came back.
Cavendish got to his feet and took the glass. Already, the other men had hung out the wet clothes.