Also we took with us all the money that we possessed, amounting to something over fifteen hundred dollars in gold, which sum we divided between us, carrying it in belts about our middles. At Vera Cruz, where people are very curious about the business of others, we gave out that the Señor Strickland was one of those strange Englishmen who love to visit old ruins, for which purpose he was travelling to Yucatan; that I, Ignatio, was his guide and companion, and that Molas, my foster–brother, was our servant.
Now we purposed to leave Vera Cruz by a fine American vessel, a sailing ship, that, after touching at the ports along the coast, traded to Havana and New York. As it chanced, the departure of this ship was delayed for a week, so, being pressed for time and fearing lest we should catch the yellow fever that was raging in the town, unhappily for ourselves we took passage in a Mexican boat called the Santa Maria.
She was an old sailing vessel of not more than two hundred and fifty tons burden, that had been converted by her owners into a paddle–wheel steamer, with the result that, except in favourable weather, she could neither sail nor steam with any speed or safety. Her business was to trade with passengers and cargo between Vera Cruz and the ports of Frontera and Campeche.
"Where for?" asked the agent of the Señor Strickland, as he filled in the tickets.
"Frontera," he answered. "Your boat stops there, does she not?"
"Oh! certainly, señor," he said, as he pocketed the dollars, and yet all the while this shameless rogue knew that she had orders to touch at Campeche, which is the furthest port, first, and return to Frontera a week later. But of this more in its place.
That afternoon the Santa Maria, with us on board of her, was piloted out of the harbour of Vera Cruz, and we heard the pilot swearing because she would not answer properly to her helm. Standing by the engines we noticed also that, though they had not been working for more than half an hour, it was found necessary to keep a stream of water in constant play upon the bearings.
The señor asked the reason of this of the man who was mate and engineer of the boat, and he answered, with a shrug, that sand had got into the machinery when she was steaming over the bar of the Grijalva river, but that he thought the bearings, should it please the Saints, would last this voyage, unless they had the bad luck to run into a norther, as you English call el Norte; the fearful gales that in certain seasons of the year sweep over the Gulf of Mexico.
"And if we 'run into a norther'?" he asked—whereupon the man made a grimace, crossed himself to avert the omen, and vanished down the stoke–hole.
Now we began to feel sorry that we had not taken passage in the American ship, since of late northers had been frequent, but as, for good or ill, we were on board the Santa Maria, we amused ourselves by studying our fellow–passengers.
Of these there were several on board, perhaps twenty in all, Mexican landowners and officials returning to their haciendas and native towns after a visit to Vera Cruz, or the capital, some of them pleasant companions enough and others not so. Three or four of these gentlemen were accompanied by their wives, but the ladies had already retired to the bunks opening out of the cabin, where, although the sea was quite smooth, they could be heard suffering the pains of sickness.
Among the passengers was one, a man of not more than thirty years of age, who particularly attracted our attention because of the gorgeousness of his dress. In appearance he was large, handsome, and coarse, and he had Indian blood in his veins, as was shown by the darkness of his colour and the thick black eyebrows that gave a truculent expression to his face. While I was wondering who he might be, Molas made a sign to me to come aside, and said:
"You see yonder man with the silver buttons on his coat: he is Don José Moreno, the son of that Don Pedro Moreno who waylaid and robbed me of the nuggets which the old Indian gave me for the cost of my journey to find you. I heard at the time that he was away from the hacienda in Vera Cruz or Mexico, and now doubtless he returns thither. Beware of him, lord, and bid the Englishman to do the same, for, like his father, he is a bad man—" and he told me certain things connected with him and his family.
While Molas was talking, a bell had rung for dinner, but I waited till he had finished before going down. At the door of the cabin I met the captain, a stout man with a face like a full moon and a bland smile.
"What do you seek, señor?" he asked.
"My dinner, señor," I answered.
"It shall be sent to you on the deck," he said, not without confusion. "I do not wish to be rude, señor, but you know that these Mexicans—I am a Spaniard myself and do not care—hate to sit at meat with an Indian, so, if you insist upon coming in, there will be trouble."
Now I heard, and though the insult was deep, it was one to which I was accustomed, for in this land, which belongs to them and where their fathers ruled, to be an Indian is to be an outcast.
Therefore, not wishing to make a stir, I bowed and turned away. Meanwhile, it seems that the Señor Strickland, missing me in the cabin, asked the captain where I was, saying that perhaps I did not know that the meal was ready.
"If you refer to your servant, the Indian," said the captain, "I met him at the door and sent him away. Surely the señor knows that we do not sit at table with these people."
"Captain," answered the Señor Strickland, "if my friend is an Indian, he is as good a gentleman as you or anybody else in this cabin; moreover, he has paid for a first–class fare and has a right to first–class accommodation. I insist upon a seat being provided for him at my side."
"As you wish," answered the captain, smiling, for he was a man of peace, "only if he comes there will be trouble." And he ordered the steward to fetch me.
Now this steward was an Indian who knew my rank. Therefore not wishing to offend me by repeating what had passed, he said simply that the captain sent his compliments and begged that I would come down to dinner. The end of it was that I went, though doubtfully, and, seeing me in the doorway the Señor Strickland called to me in a loud voice, saying:
"You are late for dinner, friend, but I have kept your place here by me. Sit down quickly or the food will be cold."
I bowed to the company and obeyed, and then the trouble commenced, for all present had heard this talk. As I took my seat the Mexicans began to murmur, and the passenger who was next to me insolently moved his plate and glass away. Now almost opposite to me sat Don José Moreno, that man of whom Molas had told me. As I took my seat he consulted hastily with a neighbour on his right, then, addressing the captain, said in a loud voice:
"There is some mistake; it is not usual that Indian dogs should sit at the same table with gentlemen."
The captain shrugged his shoulders and answered mildly:
"Perhaps the señor will settle the question with the English señor on my left. To me it does not matter; I am only a poor sailor, and accustomed to every sort of company."
"Señor Strickland," said Don José, "be so good as to order your servant to leave the cabin."
"Señor," he answered, for his temper was quick, "I will see you in hell before I do so."
"Caramba," said the Mexican, laying a hand upon the knife in his belt, "you shall pay for that, Englishman."
"When and how you will, señor. I always pay my debts."
Then the captain broke in, in a strange way. First he put a hand behind him, and, drawing a large pistol from his pocket, he laid it by his plate.
"Señors, both," he said in a soft voice and with a gentle smile, "I am loth to interfere in a quarrel of two esteemed passengers, but though I am only a poor sailor, it is my duty to see that there is no bloodshed on board this vessel. Therefore, much as I regret it, I shall be obliged to shoot dead the first man who draws a weapon," and he cocked the pistol.