“You drop into the ship,” he said, “out of the clouds. Out of the
clouds, I say. You tell us some sort of cock-and-bull story. I say it
looks deuced suspicious.” He took another turn and came back. “My wife
says that you took her rings and--and--gave them to------”
He had an ashamed air. It came into my head that that hateful woman had
been egging him on to this through the skylight, instead of saying her
prayers.
“Your wife!” I said. “Why, she might have been murdered--if I hadn’t
made her give them up. I believe I saved her life.”
He said suddenly, “Tut, tut!” and shrugged his shoulders. He hung his
head for a minute, then he added, “Mind, I don’t say--I don’t say that
it mayn’t be as you say. You’re a very nice young fellow.... But what
I say is--I am a public man--you ought to clear yourself.” He was
beginning to recover his military bearing.
“Oh! don’t be absurd,” I said.
One of the Spaniards came up to me and whispered, “You must come now.
We are going to cast off.” At the same time Tomas Castro prowled to the
other side of the ship, within five yards of us. I called out, “Tomas
Castro! Tomas Castro! I will not go with you.” The man beside me said,
“Come, señor! _Vamos!_”
Suddenly Castro, stretching his arm out at me, cried, “Come, _hombres_.
This is the _caballero_; seize him.” And to me in his broken English he
shouted, “You may resist, if you like.”
This was what I meant to do with all my might. The ragged crowd
surrounded me; they chattered like monkeys. One man irritated me beyond
conception. He looked like an inn-keeper in knee-breeches, had a broken
nose that pointed to the left, and a double chin. More of them came
running up every minute. I made a sort of blind rush at the fellow with
the broken nose; my elbow caught him on the soft folds of flesh and he
skipped backwards; the rest scattered in all directions, and then stood
at a distance, chattering and waving their hands. And beyond them I saw
old Cowper gesticulating approval. The man with the double chin drew a
knife from his sleeve, crouched instantly, and sprang at me. I hadn’t
fought anybody since I had been at school; raising my fists was like
trying a dubious experiment in an emergency. I caught him rather hard on
the end of his broken nose; I felt the contact on my right, and a small
pain in my left hand. His arms went up to the sky; his face, too. But
I had started forward to meet him, and half a dozen of them flung their
arms round me from behind.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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