I never saw him again. But here or there, time and again, I gave some friendless one a hand because of what he had done for me, a homeless lad.
Truly, my life had two beginnings—the one when I was born, and the second when I walked away from that fishing boat. The delivery was made on the Key of Bristol, and I walked away into the world.
Now, seventeen years later, on the shores of America, I was facing another beginning … or perhaps an end.
It was time I was getting back. Armand would be waiting, and now I knew the boat was safe. I went along up the shore, meeting with no more obstructions.
Stepping through the last curtain of trees and brush, I emerged into the clearing.
The fire was there, burned down to coals, but there was nothing more.
They were gone … and I was alone again.
My first instinct was to get out of sight and I did so, stepping back quickly into the darkness under the trees. The faint reddish glow cast by the fire lit the clearing just enough for me to see that it was empty.
After the first shock of discovery, I stood very still, listening. I heard nothing. Yet they had vanished, disappearing into the night as if they had never been.
No, the fire was there. There might even be tracks, but I was no red Indian to read a story from the dust. There would be tracks, of course, but how to tell those of the Spanish party from the newcomers … or were there any newcomers? Perhaps they had left to be rid of me. Don Manuel’s outright dislike had been obvious from the start, and even Don Diego had been offended by me.
Inspecting the scene more carefully, I saw near the place where Guadalupe had slept something dark, seeming with a shade of red … a cloak, perhaps.
Holding to the edge of darkness, I worked my way about the clearing, recovering the blanket, for such it proved to be. A blanket or a robe … I could use that. Then, near where Don Diego had slept, I saw a package that contained the food.
Little enough was left, yet sufficient for a meal or two for the lot of us.
No Indians had taken them, then, for they would surely have wanted both the robe and the food. On the other hand, it was unlikely, if they had left to be rid of me, that the blanket and the food would be left behind—unless they were simply careless, and that I could well believe.
If they were taken, how could eleven people be captured without noise? I had never been further off than three hundred English yards, always within hearing of a cry or shout. And I had heard nothing.
They must have left me freely and of their own accord.
So be it.
I picked up the robe and the package of food, which was heavier than I’d have believed, and walked back to the boat. Shoving off, I scrambled in, got up the sail, and left the creek, the clearing, and the red coals of the fire. With a light wind blowing, I moved out across the sound—if such it was. At the moment I had room in my thoughts for but one destination. The Spanish galleon.
Yet I found myself scowling and perplexed. Why had they not taken the boat? And if they merely wanted to be rid of me, why not simply tell me so? I should have gone. But even had I refused, they had firearms and I had none.
It made no sense. If they had been taken by force, why was there no evidence of a struggle?
There were no ships about. There had been no evidence that anyone but ourselves was in the area. Yet how much evidence had we left? Would anyone have known that we were ever present?
My attention reverted to the water across which I was sailing. It was still, yet I could sense some movement, some current. Was there a river flowing from the mainland?
There was a faint suggestion of gray in the eastern sky. The water had the sheen of metal except where the shadow of some great tree fell across it. Working in along the shore, I glimpsed the dark bulk of a galleon’s hull. I lowered the sail and moved in toward the shore, sculling the boat with an oar until I was close alongside. I listened, but heard no sound aboard the ship. Lines trailed from the side, evidently where the ship’s boat had been lowered. Making fast to one of these, I caught another, gave it a test yank to see if it was fast at the other end, and then I went up the rope and swung to the deck.
All aboard was confusion. Lines lay about, scattered clothing, even a sack that proved to be filled with food, apparently forgotten in the haste to get free of the vessel. Carefully, alert for anyone who might still be aboard, I worked my way around the ship’s deck.
She lay where the tide had left her, yet she seemed to lie on an even keel and would float again, I believed, when the tide was right.
All was dark and still. The vessel seemed haunted.
And although I had always accounted myself a brave man, I shrank from going below. Even an empty ship is not lifeless, for it seems to stir, to creak, to yawn, even to whisper.
She was a relatively small vessel, and I went aft. Dagger in hand, I entered the passage. All was still. Before me lay the great cabin, and I stepped in.
The room was in turmoil. Astrolabe, sandglass, and cross-staff lay upon the table along with some hastily bundled up charts … Was ever a vessel abandoned so heedlessly before? All they might have needed was left behind.
There was a pistol also, and I picked it up. It was loaded. I thrust it behind my belt, just in case. Adjoining this room was another, and much smaller one. A faint perfume lingered … without doubt the cabin of Guadalupe Romana.
Then I saw an incongruous touch. In a corner of the room was a small chest. It must have belonged to her. The top was thrown back, as though its contents had been ripped from inside. No woman would have been likely to leave it so, for these chests were used to store keepsakes, the little things a woman treasures.
No … there was but one likely explanation. After Guadalupe Romana had left the cabin, somebody had entered here and searched … for what?
I took another look around … I would return later.
When I came again to the deck there was a faint pink in the sky. I went forward. The vessel was lightly aground, but the tide would float her free. Perhaps she would work free, anyway, if there was a little current here, some movement of the water.
The vessel was simply abandoned, deserted by passengers and crew, fair game for any who came. And I was here.
The sack of foodstuffs found upon the deck I dropped into my boat. I also collected some further gear, a coil of line, some canvas. I found a cask of powder, a bullet mold, several bars of lead, three muskets, two more pistols.
I returned to the cabin of the Señorita Romana and carefully repacked the small chest. Then I gathered what I could find of clothing and packed that into another leather chest.
As I kicked aside some of the fallen bedclothing that lay in my path, I heard a faint tinkle. I looked down and saw a small medallion of peculiar shape and design. Putting down the chest, I took it up. On one side was some odd lettering—or what seemed to be lettering—of a kind I had not seen before. On the other was a strange design of twisting lines and half-circles. It was not a coin, but it seemed to be very, very old and worn. I dropped it into a small bag I carried in my belt.
On deck I completed loading the boat, going to the pantry for further food.
It was broad daylight by the time the last items were aboard, and I stood by the bulwark looking all about me. Nowhere was there any sign of life save the occasional flocks of birds that flew over, or a fish jumping out on the sound. Lying close in to shore as she was, there was small chance of the boat being seen.
Again I went below, but this time into the hold. There I saw a full cargo—casks, bales, and bundles of I knew not what-but not, I knew, what I sought. Suddenly I came to a door, heavily timbered and locked.
For a moment I looked at the door. I looked at the lock. It made me smile. To one who had wandered the highroads of England, France, Spain, and Italy as I had, locks were no mystery. In less than a minute I had picked the lock and opened the door into the room.