"I would," said Cavendish. "I would very much."
"It's infernally hot, Captain," Tyler said from behind. Just then the volcano grumbled, grew strong and angry. The black night was illumined suddenly, as the hot lava was hurled upward.
"Jesu," said Tyler.
"It's called Krakatoa," Cavendish said.
"Jesu," Tyler repeated. "What would happen, sir, if—"
"It would blow you straight to hell, Tyler," Cavendish said. "Go sling that hammock."
"Aye, sir," said Tyler.
"Good night, sir," said Pretty. He walked slowly away. Below, in his cabin, he was alone, for Moon was on duty until the middle watch. Pretty sat down and took off his shoes. He got out his journal, and opened it to the first blank page. He started to write and he didn't know what to say. Finally he dipped his pen.
"On the twenty-first day of February," he wrote slowly, "Captain Havers died of a most fervent ague which had held him furiously for some eight days." Pretty dipped his pen again. The volcano rumbled. "To the no small grief of our Captain and all the rest of our company."
Pretty's eyes filled with tears. He put his head down in his hands. "God bless you, sir," he muttered, and he didn't know whether he was speaking of Havers or Cavendish. "God bless you."
Chapter XXXI
Catherine woke slowly, her body was bathed in sweat, and as she raised her head, drops of perspiration ran down her throat and neck. The afternoon sun slanted through the portholes; there was no air at all.
High mountains protected the port of Acapulco, and shut out all the wind from the land. The port was only half a mile in breadth, so soon did the mountains rise from the bay they sheltered; the town clustered in five blocks along the waterfront.
Catherine sat up in bed. Her very being felt heavy, yet she must move, and must get dressed.
"I have the water ready," Tina said.
Alongside Catherine, Kate stirred in her sleep. Her long hair was tangled and mussed, her small hands were damp to the touch. Suddenly the weariness that enveloped Catherine mounted into activity; she turned over on her stomach and began to cry, with long sobbing cries that shook her whole body.
Tina said nothing. She moved about the cabin, laying out Catherine's dress; she emptied the water into a wooden tub.
Catherine buried her face in the soft pillows; after the first outburst she realized she did not want to waken Kate and have the child see her cry this way. Fear for the child had gripped her terribly in the last few weeks. Guilt nagged at Catherine, for if she had never left Manila, the child would be safe there now. She wiped her face with her hands, and sat up; she took Kate's wet hand in hers, and the child sighed in her sleep.
"I shall never leave her, señora," Tina said.
Catherine blinked back more tears. She started to say something, but couldn't.
"I promise you, señora," Tina said. "I swear it by the Virgin."
Catherine blinked and sniffed and wiped her nose.
"She sleeps still, do not waken her."
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Catherine nodded and slipped off the bed, stripping off her thin shift. She stepped into the tub, and knelt down, splashing the water up gratefully on her face. She felt a little better.
"I love her with all my soul," Tina said.
"I know you do, Tina," Catherine said, inadequately, feeling the tears rise again. "But you must take her to England, Tina. If anything happens to me, you must take her to England!"
"I shall, señora," Tina said, and Catherine looked up at her lean dark face and the wrinkled neck with the gold chain around it.
"Trimley St. Martin," Catherine said aloud, and Tina repeated it. "It is near Harwich," Catherine said, as if it were truly impossible to conceive of it. "The house is brick, and geese walk in the kitchen garden. And it is in Suffolk, Tina. Ah, it must be beautiful in England."
"We shall go there, señora," Tina said. "Your towel."
Catherine took it. The water felt good to her feet, and she dried herself while she was standing in the tub. On the chair lay her dress.
It was cloth of gold, made of the material Cavendish had given her. Its bodice was low; it had small panels over the hips, and a narrow skirt. Tina put it over Catherine's head, and stepped back to survey it.
Tina nodded, pleased. Catherine looked down at herself.
"I'll wear my hair loose with this," she said.
Tina brushed her hair back, and fastened it with two gold pins; she put a gold mesh net over the shining hair. "What jewels?" she asked.
Catherine said, "Why should I placate them? I'll wear the emeralds."
They were fabulous. They could be nothing but a pirate's loot, or an Aztec prince's. The ring was her wedding ring; the emerald on the narrow chain was the one she had tried to steal.
"You are beautiful," Tina said, matter of factly.
"It's the excitement," Catherine said. She went toward the door, just as there was a knock on the heavy dark wood.
"I'll rouse Kate, and get fresh water," Tina said, "and bathe the señorita. The sun is going down and I'll take her out on deck."
"Good-bye," Catherine said.
"Adios, señora."
Catherine had not far to go. The large cabin was only fifteen feet away. Da Gossa himself opened the door, and led her to a
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chair next to his. The other gentlemen rose when she entered, and silence fell.
Catherine saw the silver bowl of fruit on the polished table. There were nuts and sweetmeats and wine. It flashed through her mind that after they had finished with her, they would indulge in these refreshments and talk about what had occurred. Da Gossa was introducing her, and she curtsied to each in turn, repeating the names after da Gossa.
"The Alcalde of Acapulco, Serior del Cano."
"Your servant, señor," Catherine said. He was the last to be presented. Catherine studied his square face briefly, and he brushed his short pointed beard.
There was another brief silence. Da Gossa broke it. He lifted the sheet of paper in front of him.
"Señora de Montoro," he began, "I have here the questions I asked you and which you have already answered. I am going to read them aloud, and the gentlemen gathered here will then have an opportunity to hear them and your affirmations that the information is correct."
"Certainly, señor," Catherine replied.
"Then I shall begin," da Gossa said. "Gentlemen, the Englishman's description is as follows." He began to read. "Captain Cavendish; nationality, English; age, two and thirty years. Eyes, blue; hair, dark brown, tinged with gray, cut short. Face, clean-shaven—"
His voice went on. Catherine thought only of the man whom his words evoked. "Eyes, blue." She bit her lip.
Fifteen minutes went by. Da Gossa read on, and finally his voice stopped. He laid the paper down.
Another brief silence fell. Then the Alcalde folded his hands in his lap; he looked at Catherine. He said, "The señora has thus told us nothing that any other passenger or member of the company of the Santa Anna could not have told us."
"That is quite true," da Gossa said.
The Alcalde frowned. "We have the word of many crewmen that the English pirate was setting forth to Manila and the South Seas. I am wondering, sirs, whether that was a trick of the Englishman's. Let me tell you, gentlemen, that if he should return by the Straits of Magellan, all our heads would be in danger of falling!"
"But Captain Cavendish will not return that way, sirs," Catherine said.
The Alcalde frowned deeper. "How may we know you speak the
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truth, Señora? You have been under no compulsion to tell the truth."
Da Gossa glanced at Catherine. He was about to speak, but the Alcalde interrupted him.