“Below if you please, Mr Jesson,” McRafferty shouted peremptorily.
“If there’s to be delay—”
“It will have to be accepted. Go below. I’ll not have lubbers cluttering my decks in a storm, Mr Jesson.”
“Now look here, Captain—”
“It was an order. At sea, you will obey the Master.” Captain McRafferty moved close, thrust his jaw forward. The face when angry was a formidable one; it was Jesson who turned away, muttering angrily, a red light coming into his eyes and the lips thinning behind the beard. With an ill grace, he went below, and probably only just in time to save his skin. As his head disappeared below the hatch, the Aysgarth Falls lurched heavily to a sea that swept below her counter and lifted her, canting the deck sharply. McRafferty reached in time for the weather mizzen shrouds and hung on for his life. Men went skidding on their backsides along the waist, and from the saloon, McRafferty heard a heavy bump followed by violent imprecations. He smiled to himself, grimly. Jesson would know better next time. Soon after this, there was a rising sound of fury from the wind, a shrieking, dismal and threatening whine as invisible fingers plucked at the ropes and wires. Little by little the sails were furled along the yards as the desperately working men fought to keep themselves from pitching down from the footropes. It was easy enough to miss a footing, or to over-balance when laying out across the great flapping sails to beat the wind from them and secure the canvas in the buntlines.
IN ARICA Smith had left the hovel; Halfhyde supposed he had made his way to the docks to contact the seamen manning the picquet-boat from the flagship and have a message passed to their Admiral. But Smith was nobody’s fool. When he returned, he was accompanied by two policemen, swarthy men carrying rifles and side-arms. Halfhyde was given to understand he was being arrested and moved to the town’s gaol, where he would be under police guard.
He bowed ironically towards Smith. “I congratulate you on your perspicacity,” he said. “You were unwilling, I take it, to place your head in von Merkatz’ noose?”
Smith grinned. “I wouldn’t trust him too far, Lieutenant Halfhyde. But he’ll get nowhere with the Chilean authorities, and he won’t dare to double-cross them.”
Halfhyde made a contemptuous sound. “Von Merkatz would double-cross his own mother, my dear fellow! His own Emperor, too, if he could be sure of getting away with it. As to the Chilean authorities staving him off, I have my doubts as to that as well. When last I was in Chile, von Merkatz stood favourably with President Errazuriz.”
“Who is no longer in office.”
“Nevertheless, Germany and Chile are friendly, and von Merkatz may see his way clear to obtaining my person without you as an intermediary to be paid.” Halfhyde knew that there could be extra danger to himself insofar as the Chilean authorities would also want his person, but the danger would most likely not be great. It was a pound to a penny that Smith had entered into a private arrangement with the local police and his, Halfhyde’s, presence in Arica would never be reported to Santiago. However, he once again advanced a proposal that he had first made whilst en route from Iquique. “Why not accept English gold, or the promise of it, instead?”
Smith didn’t bother to reply; Halfhyde would never be able to muster the sum expected from von Merkatz, let alone exceed it. Halfhyde was taken from the hovel to be marched to police headquarters. The day had darkened further by this time, and as the small procession came into the open, the rain started teeming down. Halfhyde and the policemen were drenched within seconds. Halfhyde was ordered to double; he ran ahead between his escort, his feet splashing through mud and filth. The rain was cold, but there was a curious residue of warmth still in the wind, and this suggested to Halfhyde the likelihood of an approaching earthquake, not uncommon in Chile. More than ever, he wished he was at sea. The movement of storm water could at times be frightening, but the movement of solid earth was a nightmare and would be the more so if one was locked into a police cell.
On arrival at police headquarters, there was a complete absence of any formalities, which confirmed to Halfhyde more clearly than words that his arrest would not be reported beyond the perimeter of the port. Also, Smith had seemed unconcerned that his prisoner might inform the local police about the set-up in Iquique; Halfhyde for his part did not propose to waste his breath on the subject. The network of bribery throughout the coastal areas was much too strong to be breached. Halfhyde was put into a cell little more than four feet square, with just room enough for a plank bed on which he could lie doubled up or sit and contemplate the strong, metal-bound door that was locked and bolted on him. A small window, set high, gave some light; but by now the day had turned virtually into night and, standing on the plank bed to look through, Halfhyde could see nothing but the terrible downpour that was turning the ground outside into a pock-marked muddy pool.
For want of anything better to do, he was still looking from the window as full dark came down. He saw the approach of a storm lantern, held high over the heads of uniformed German naval officers tightly wrapped in boat cloaks, splashing through the water.
Some while after this he was brought from the cell.
VICE-ADMIRAL PAULUS von Merkatz had changed little since their last encounter. The arrogance of eyes, face, and
