Further Adventures - Walk the Plank

The two men held her. Zorro, half throttled, was kept against the mast. Barbados made another sign, and some of the men carried forward a heavy bar of iron and lashed it to Zorro's wrists.

"To the rail with him!" Barbados commanded.

They forced him to the rail, and the two men urged the señorita along beside him. Over the rail a long, wide plank had been extended.

Zorro knew what they meant to do to him. And now Lolita realized it, too.

"No, no!" she shrieked. "You must not do this thing!"

"Ha! Revenge is sweet!" Barbados cried. "Zorro, you are about to descend to a watery hell! We'll let you take your sword with you, since you may need it fighting demons. You take the plunge, and then, when yon ship comes up, we attend to your friends! As for the señorita, know that she will be delivered safely to one who has bargained for her."

"Why not give me a chance in a fair fight?" Zorro asked. "Any two of you – any three –"

"Your friends are coming up, and we must prepare for them," Barbados replied, laughing. "You have fought your last fight on earth, señor. See if you can mark the brow of the devil with your cursed Z."

[...]

"This much good – that I shall not die!" Zorro answered.

"If you do not, then indeed are you a man! With a weight on your lashed wrists – Enough!" he exclaimed. "Put him on the plank!"

They lifted him and stood him upon it, facing him toward the sea. They forced him a short distance from the rail.

"Diego!" the señorita cried, agony in her voice.

At her cry the plank was tipped.

And with her cry ringing in his ears Zorro shot downward like a man of metal – shot downward into the tossing sea, and was gone!

[...]

Smiling in the face of death, Zorro yet battled to keep from showing his genuine emotions, because of the presence of the señorita. But in that awful moment when he stood upon the plank, looking first at the evil faces of Barbados and Sanchez, and then at the agonized countenance of Señorita Lolita Pulido, he knew what torture meant.

Barbados gave his last mocking laugh, and Zorro felt the plank tipping. He felt himself losing his balance. The heavy weight on his wrists was almost bending him backward. He knew how swiftly it would carry him down into the depths of the sea. Then would come a brief and useless struggle, he supposed, a moment of horror – and the end!

His eyes met those of the señorita yet again. And then it seemed that everything gave way beneath him and he shot downward.

There came a splash of water as he struck the surface – he felt its sudden chill – and then the waves closed over his head. He was a famous swimmer, but no man can swim with a heavy bar of metal tied to his wrists, and those wrists lashed behind his back.

Mechanically Zorro protected himself as he struck the water, as though for a deep dive. He drew air into his lungs until it seemed that they would burst. He kicked in vain against the down-pulling power of the heavy weight. Down and down he went into the depths until the light from the surface faded and he found himself in darkness.

Zorro prayed and worked at the same instant. He jerked his wrists from side to side behind his back, trying to force them apart. He expelled a tiny bit of air now and then as he descended, but retained it as much as possible.

Often he had played at remaining as long as possible beneath water; but it is one thing to do so when a man has the knowledge that he can spring to the surface at any time, and quite another when he has reason to believe that he never will reach the surface again at all.

Yet he continued to struggle as he shot downward. Red flashes were before his eyes now, and a multitude of faces and scenes seemed to flit before him.

In that awful instant he relived half his life.

"Dios!" he thought. "If this be death – "

Another tug he gave at his wrists. The man who had lashed the heavy weight there had not done his work well. Perhaps he was too busy watching Barbados and fearing him. Perhaps he had held a sneaking admiration for this Señor Zorro, who had offered battle to an entire ship's company. However, the rope that held the weight gave a trifle.

Zorro, in his agony, realized that. He tugged again, and then pressed his palms close together and drew in his wrists as much as possible. The heavy weight, dragging downward, pulled the loose loop over the wrists and hands. Zorro felt an immediate relief. He realized what had happened. And then he began his battle to reach the surface. The weight was gone, but his wrists were still lashed together behind his back.

He kicked and struggled and shot upward. He expelled more of the precious air his lungs retained. His chest was burning, his ears were ringing, he was almost unconscious because of the pressure of the water he had been forced to endure.

He saw a glimmer of light, but knew that the surface was yet far away. And it occurred to him that even the surface did not mean life. For his wrists were yet bound behind him, and he was miles from the shore.

On he went, up and up, struggling and fighting. He jerked at his wrists until they were raw and bleeding, but to no avail. Those who had lashed his wrists had done better than the one who had fastened the weight to them.

And finally he gave a last struggle, a last kick, and felt the blessed air striking upon his face.

The pirate ship was some distance away, sailing slowly before a gentle breeze. Zorro found himself floating in her wake. He could see men rushing around her deck and up into her rigging, but at the distance could not guess their tasks. Bearing down upon him was the other craft, the one with the gigantic Z upon the sail. Zorro saw that he was directly in her path.

Those on the approaching ship did not see him, for they were watching the pirate craft and preparing for the battle that was to come.

He hailed those on board, but his voice was drowned by the roar of the water against the schooner's bows. He saw that she would strike him, and kicked frantically to work himself to one side of the track she was following. Had he saved himself from the depths, he wondered, to be crushed senseless by the bow of the craft that carried his friends? Then she was upon him. He rose with the crest of a wave and was hurled at the bow.

He saw an anchor chain that was loosely looped and a dragging line. If he could but catch one of those and make his way to the deck, there might be some chance. Once more the sea whirled him and cast him forward. He came against the swinging loop of anchor chain with a crash, grasped it, was lifted and dropped, but held on!

The bow of the ship dipped, and Zorro felt himself soused beneath the water for an instant. He gripped the chain with his hands and his legs and fought to maintain his position. His arms were aching, and the chain had cut through his clothing already and was chafing at his leg. Once more the bow dipped, and Zorro slipped a few feet along the chain, unable to stop his descent.

He gripped with his leg again. His hands came to a stop, and he realized that the rope that bound them had found an obstruction. Zorro worked slowly and carefully with his fingers, even as he held on. One of the links of the chain, he found, was imperfect, had cracked, and presented on one side a jagged edge.

Hope sang in his breast once more. But he knew that he would have to work carefully. He did not dare to release his hold entirely. for a sudden dip of the bow and the quick wash of the water would be enough to sweep him from the chain. But he sawed back and forth as well as he could, pulling the rope across the rough edge of the chain link.

He glanced ahead. The ships were not far apart now, and the schooner swung a bit to starboard, so as to bear down upon the pirate craft from a more advantageous angle. Zorro worked frantically, and after a time he felt the rope give.

He sawed and sawed, and once more he glanced ahead. It would not be long now before the ships clashed. He wanted to be upon the deck, normal breath in his nostrils and the sword of Zorro in his hand, to aid his friends, to fight his way to the deck of the pirate craft, and to the señorita's side.

The rope gave again. Zorro was forced to rest for a moment, leaning back on the chain. A wave swept him to one side, and he thought for an instant that he was gone. But he regained his balance and continued his sawing.

And presently he knew that he was free. The rope dangled from one wrist only. He gave an exclamation of delight and thanks, gripped the chain, and turned over. He regarded his bleeding wrists, hesitated a moment, gathered breath and courage, and commenced the perilous ascent of the chain.

It was a painful and difficult task. Every few feet he was obliged to stop, to gasp for breath and close his eyes for a moment because the pain in his wrist and leg made him weak with nausea.

He came within a short distance of the vessel, slipped back, and forced his way upward again. And finally he grasped with one hand the chain port and held on.

A moment he rested, then forced his way upward again. The schooner was very close to the pirate ship now. On the deck above him Zorro could hear Don Audre Ruiz shrieking instructions to the caballeros and the captain shouting to his crew.

He managed to get up to the butt of the bowsprit, and there, safe from the sea, he rested for a moment again. The two ships would crash together in a minute or so, he saw. He raised his head weakly, and took a deep breath, and then struggled to his feet, ready to spring down to the deck.

His hand went down to whip the sword of Zorro from its scabbard. The schooner yawed suddenly as her helmsman fought to get a position of advantage. The big jib swung back, whipped by the angry wind.

Zorro was looking down at the deck, and he did not see his danger.

Don Audre Ruiz turned at the instant, shrieked and rubbed his eyes.

"Zorro!" he cried.

He was seen from the deck of the pirate craft, too.

Barbados and Sanchez caught sight of him. Sanchez crossed himself quickly, and the face of Barbados turned white.

And then the jib cracked against Zorro's body, knocked him from his precarious perch and hurled him once more into the sea!

[...]


The schooner sailed on, and came against the pirate ship with a crash. But here was a battle unlike the usual one when honest men met pirates. As a usual thing, the pirates could be expected to board and slay without mercy, to loot, and then either to destroy the ill-fated vessel or take it away a prize. And the honest men could be expected only to offer what defense they could. But here was a case where the honest men were more than willing to carry the fight to the pirates. For Don Audre Ruiz and his caballero friends had seen Zorro walk the plank, and also they fought to rescue a lady.

But both forces found themselves disconcerted at the outset. Don Audre Ruiz, glancing toward the bow of the schooner, was sure that he saw Zorro standing there against a background of sky and water, his figure dripping. He rubbed his eyes and looked again – and Zorro was gone!

"'Tis the spirit of Zorro come to aid us!" Don Audre cried. "I saw him for a moment, waving his hand at me and reaching for his blade! The spirit of Zorro fights with us!"

The ships crashed together. But the pirates did not rush as was their custom. For fear had clutched at their superstitious natures, even as it had clutched Barbados and Sanchez, his evil lieutenant. Sanchez had shrieked the news, but Barbados did not heed his intelligence. Barbados himself had seen Zorro standing against the sky. And how may a man do that when he has been sent to the bottom of the sea with a heavy weight fastened to him?

"Fiends of hell!" Barbados screeched. "This Zorro must be a demon!"

"We cannot fight against ghosts!" Sanchez cried. "We are lost before we commence."

Barbados seemed to come to himself and shake off his terror in part. He instantly was eager to win free from the trading schooner. He did not fear the caballeros, who were greatly outnumbered now, But he did fear the supernatural. He forgot the chance for murder and loot, and wanted only to get away.

[...]

"I have other sails, señor," he explained. "They will be in place as rapidly as my men can get them there. The craft of ill-omen cannot get far before we are upon her heels again. She, is running out to sea once more. She would lose sight of us before she turns toward the accursed spot where they have their land rendezvous. Their behavior astounds me; they acted as if they had seen a ghost!"

"And so did I!" Don Audre declared. "I'll swear that, for an instant, I saw Zorro standing at the butt of the bowsprit – and then he was gone!"

"By the saints, I saw him myself!" Sergeant Gonzales shouted. "He was here to aid us! Man or spirit, I know not – but he was here! And now he has disappeared!"

The caballeros were busy helping the crew with the new sails. One by one they were sheeted home, and presently the schooner gathered headway once more. On it sailed, in the wake of the pirate craft, vengeance only delayed.

Far behind, Zorro watched her grow smaller and smaller, and the Hare of hope that had been in his heart dwindled to a mere spark again.

His unexpected plunge into the sea before he had recovered from the first ordeal had unnerved him for the moment. He had come to the surface to find that the schooner had drifled away. Before he could handle himself to advantage she was at some distance, and the pirale craft was drawing away from the ship of smoke and flame.

There was a strong tide running, and Zorro was too weak to fight against it. Near him there drifted a spar that had been torn away when the ships had crashed together. He struggled through the swirling water and managed to reach it, and drew himself upon it to sprawl there almost breathless, gasping, exhausted. He was too weak to signal his friends, and he doubted whether they would see him did he do so.

He began to take stock of his predicament. Far away he could see a dirty streak on the horizon, and he knew it for the land he would have to reach.

He was in sore condition for the hazardous journey. His wrists were raw and bleeding; his leg pained him. He scarcely could see because of the glare of the sun on the water. Thirst tortured him; hunger added to the torture.

Zorro sat up on the spar and smiled a sorry smile. He made sure that his blade still remained at his side.

"Sword of Zorro, we are in a sorry state!" he declared. "This is an emergency such as never have we faced before. But we must win through!"

A moment he hesitated, and then, as though to give courage to himself, he raised his voice again, this time in his song:

"Atención! A caballero's near – "

But his voice broke, and he told himself that he was a fool to attempt to sing out there in the wild waste of waters, clinging to a spar. Far better to concern himself about getting to the land.

Zorro rested a short time longer, watching the disappearing ships.

And turning, he looked at the distant land.

"Sword of Zorro, we travel toward the east!" he announced. "If ever I touch dry land again, there I remain for some time to come. This seafaring is a sorry business!"

He adjusted himself as well as he could, and started to swim, clinging to the spar. That rendered his progress slow, but he did not dare cast it aside, for he knew that he never would reach the distant land. For a time he swam, and then he floated on the spar and rested, and then urged himself to swim again. On and on through the hours, while the sun traveled across the heavens, he forced the spar through the water.

At times songs rang through his brain, at other times he caught himself mouthing meaningless phrases. And then he thought of the Señorita Lolita, and swam on.

Twilight came. The sun disappeared. There was a period of darkness, and then the surface of the sea was touched with the glory of the moon. Zorro could not see the land now, but he knew in which direction it lay, and swam on, a few minutes at a time.

And thus passed the night. But before the dark space just before the dawn, Zorro was laughing raucously, out of his wits. Some god of good fortune kept him swimming in the proper direction. And when the sun appeared again, it brought a new agony to his eyes, new tortures of thirst. He swallowed salt water and spat it out, and found that it had made him ill. For a time he was stretched across the spar, weak, sick, on the verge of delirium.

He fancied that a myriad of pirate vessels were about him, bearing down upon him. He saw the pretty, laughing face of the Señorita Lolita in the mist that hung above the sea. He laughed back at her, and once again his cracked voice rose in a song:

"Atención! A caballero's near – "

He felt himself grow suddenly weak. It seemed to him that the land was near at last, but he could not be sure. He drew himself upon the spar, sprawling across it.

"Must-rest –" Zorro gasped.

And with the gasp he passed into unconsciousness.

Back to earth he struggled as through a land of hideous dreams. He tossed and groaned and tried to open his eyes, but felt that he could not. There seemed to be a roaring in his ears that was not of the sea. And finally it came to him that it was a human voice, attempting to beat through his unconsciousness and bring him to an understanding of things.

"Señor! Señor – " the voice said.

Zorro struggled yet again, groaned once more, and opened his eyes. But not into the burning glare of the open sea! He was in cool shade, he found, and from a distance came the hissing of the surf. He blinked his eyes rapidly, felt something at his lips, and drank deeply of pure, cold water.

"Señor!" There was the voice again. "For the love of the saints, señor, come back to life!"

Full consciousness returned to him in a breath. He opened his eyes wider and struggled to sit up. Then he saw that he was in some sort of a poor hut, and that a native was beside him, with an arm beneath his shoulders.

"Thank the saints, señor!" the native cried.

Zorro, with the help of the native, sat up. He had been stretched on a sort of couch, he found. He glanced around the interior of the poor hut, through the open door at the sparkling sea.

"What –"  he began. "I found you yesterday, señor, far out to sea, riding on a piece of wreckage," the native said. "You had lost your wits. You fought me when I tried to take you into my boat, and tried to draw blade against me. Then you went unconscious, and I had my way with you."

"And – and then?" Zorro gasped.

"Why, señor, I fetched you here!" the native explained. "And throughout the night you raved, and so far today. The sun has but two more hours to live."

"Where is this?" Zorro asked.

"On the coast, señor, far to the south of Reina de Los Angeles. I am but a poor neophyte who eats what fish he can catch. Once I worked on a hacienda, señor, but the governor took all for taxes. And so I got me a boat and came down the coast and built this poor house. And here I live alone and am happy. There are times when I carry fish to the stronghold of the pirates, and trade them for some other things –"

"Ha!" Zorro cried. "The stronghold of the pirates? Where is that?"

"Less than ten miles down the coast, señor, in a little bay. There are huts, and women and children, and every now and then the pirate ship puts in after a raid. They are safe there, señor, though they are within eight miles of the presidio of San Diego de Alcála."

"By the saints!" Zorro swore. "And how does it come that you did not rob me of my sword and the few things of value upon me, and toss me into the sea?"

The native looked at him frankly. "Pardon, señor," he said, "but I never would do such a thing as that. For I knew you instantly, señor. You are Señor Zorro, who rode up and down El Camino Real and avenged the wrongs of the natives and frailes. You once punished a soldier who beat my father. If it is necessary, señor, I am ready to die that you may live."

"There was a pirate ship in the offing, and another," Zorro insinuated.

"Si, señor! The pirate ship ran from the other, going out to sea. But a short time ago I saw her pass, going toward the bay where the pirates have their headquarters. And the other ship passed but a short time ago, pursuing."

"By the saints!" Zorro cried. "I would go to this pirates' den of which you speak, and as speedily as possible."

"The señor must eat first, so that he will have strength," the native said, firmly. "Then I will guide the señor to the spot. It is ten miles, and the señor is a weak man."

"I will eat the food gladly," Zorro replied. "Do you prepare it as speedily as possible. There shall be an ample reward."

"It is reward enough that I have been able to save the señor's life," the native answered, "The friends of Señor Zorro do not forget what he did for them!"


- The Further Adventures of Zorro, Chapters 11, 14, and 15