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THE 
 
 FLAG OF DISTRESS 
 
 A TALE OF THE SOUTH SEA. 
 
 BY 
 
 CAPT. MAYNE REED, 
 
 AUTHOR OP "THE HEADLESS HORSEMAN," "OSCEOLA; OR, THE 
 
 SEMINOLE CHIEF," "AFLOAT IN THE FOREST," "THE GIRAFFE 
 
 HUNTERS," "THE DESERT HOME," ETC. 
 
 A NEW EDITION, 
 WITH A MEMOIR BY R. H. STODDARD. 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 WORTHINGTON CO., 747 BROADWAY 
 1890 
 
Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1869, by 
 
 FIELDS, OSGOOD & C*., 
 
 In the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. 
 
 Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1885, by 
 
 THOMAS R. KNOX & CO., 
 
 in the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 
 
 Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1889, by 
 
 WORTHINGTON CO., 
 
 in the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 
 
 ♦ . . . . t , • ■» .New York,' January let, 1869. 
 Messrs. Fields, Os&o©r> &"Go.:— *' ••»**•** 
 
 I accept the terms offered, and hereby concede to you the exclusive right 
 of publication, in the United States, of all my juvenile Tales of Adventure, 
 known as Boys' Novels. 
 
 MAYNE REID. 
 
 Press of J. J. Little & Co., 
 Astor Place, New York. 
 
MEMOIR ©F MAYKE KEID. 
 
 No one who lias written books for the young during the 
 present century ever had so large a circle of readers as 
 Captain Mayne Reid, or ever was so well fitted by circum* 
 stances to write the books by which lie is chiefly known. 
 His life, which was an adventurous one, was ripened with 
 the experience of two Continents, and his temperament 
 which was an ardent one, reflected the traits of two races 
 Irish by birth, he was American in his sympathies with 
 the people of the New World, whose acquaintance he 
 jnade at an early period, among whom he lived for years, 
 and whose battles he helped to win. He was probably 
 more familiar with the Southern and Western portion of 
 the United States forty years ago than any native-born 
 American of that time. A curious interest attaches to the 
 life of Captain Reid, but it is not of the kind that casual 
 biographers dwell upon. If he had written it himself it 
 would have charmed thousands of readers, who can now 
 merely imagine what it might have been from the glimpses 
 of it which they obtain in his writings. It was not passed 
 in the fierce light of publicity, but in that simple, silent 
 obscurity which is the lot of most men, and is their hap- 
 piness, if they only knew it. 
 
 Briefly related, the life of Captain Reid was as follows : 
 He was born in 1818, in the north of Ireland, the son oi 
 a Presbyterian clergyman, who was a type of the class 
 which Goldsmith has described so freshly in the " Deserted 
 Village," and was highly thought of for his labors among 
 the poor of his neighborhood. An earnest, reverent man, 
 to whom his calling was indeed a sacred one, he designed 
 his son Mayne for the ministry, in the hope, no doubt, 
 that he would be his successor. But nature had some- 
 thing to say about that, as well as his good father. Ho 
 began to study for the ministry, but it was not long before 
 1 
 
 M12544 
 
he was drawn in another direction. Alu ays -a great reader, 
 his favorite books were descriptions of travel in foreign 
 lands, particularly those which dealt with the scenery, 
 the people, and the resources of America. The spell whicli 
 these exercised over his imagination, joined to a love ol 
 adventure which was inherent in his temperament, and 
 inherited, perhaps with his race, determined his career. 
 At the age of twenty he closed his theological tomes, and 
 girding up his loins with a stout heart he sailed from the 
 shores of the Old World for the New. Following the 
 spirit in his feet he landed at New Orleans, which was 
 probably a more promising field for a young man of his 
 talents than any Northern city, and was speedily engaged 
 in business. The nature of this business is not stated, 
 further than it was that of a trader ; but whatever it w^is 
 it obliged this young* Irishman to make long journeys into 
 the interior of the country, which was almost a t< rra in- 
 cognita. Sparsely settled, where settled at all, it was still 
 clothed in primeval verdure — here in the endless reach of 
 savannas, there in the depth of pathless woods, and far 
 away to the North and the West in those monotonous 
 ocean-like levels of land for which the speech of England 
 has no name — the Prairies. Its population was nomadic, 
 not to say barbaric, consisting of tribes of Indians whose 
 hunting grounds from time immemorial the region was 1 , 
 hunters and trappgrs^who had turned their backs upon 
 civilization for the free, wild life of nature ; men of 
 doubtful or dangerous antecedents, who had found it con- 
 venient to leave their country for their country's good ; 
 and scattered about hardy pioneer communities from East- 
 ern States, advancing waves of the great sea of emigration 
 which is still drawing the course of empire westward. 
 Travelling in a country like this, and among people like 
 these, Mavne Reid passed five years of his early manhood. 
 He was at home wherever he went, and never more so 
 than when among the Indians of the Red River territory, 
 with whom he spent several months, learning their lan- 
 guage, studying their customs, and enjoying the wild and 
 beautiful scenery of their camping grounds. Indian for 
 the time, he lived in their lodges, rode with them, hunted 
 with them, and night after night sat by their blazing 
 camp-fires listening to the warlike stories of the braves 
 and the quaint legends of the medicine men. There was 
 that in the blood of Mavne Reid which fitted him to lead 
 this life at *-H»« «me, and whether he knew it or not i$ 
 2 
 
educated his genius as no ether life conld have done. It 
 familiarized him with a large extent of country in the 
 South and West ; it introduced him to men and manners 
 which existed nowhere else; and it revealed to him the 
 secrets of Indian life and character. 
 
 There was another side, however, to Mayne Reid than 
 that we have touched upon, and this, at the end of fiv* 
 years, drew him back to the average life of his kind. We 
 find him next in Philadelphia, where he began to con- 
 tribute stories and sketches of travel to the newspapers 
 and magazines. Philadelphia was then the most literate 
 city in the United States, the one in which a clever writer 
 was at once encouraged and rewarded. Frank and warm- 
 hearted, he made many friends there among journalists 
 and authors. One of these friends was Edgar Allan Poe, 
 whom he often visited at his home in Spring Garden, and ( 
 concerning whom years after, when he was dead, he wrote 
 with loving tenderness. 
 
 The next episode in the career of Mayne Reid was not 
 what one would expect from a man of letters, though it 
 fras just what might have been expected from a man of 
 his temperament and antecedents. It grew out of the 
 time, which was warlike, and it drove him into the army 
 with which the United States speedily crushed the forces 
 of the sister Republic — Mexico. He obtained a commis- 
 sion, and served throughout the war with great bravery 
 and distinction. This stormy episode ended with a severe 
 wound, which he received in storming the heights of Cha- 
 pultepec — a terrible battle which practically ended the 
 war. 
 
 A second episode of a similar character, but with a more 
 fortunate conclusion, occurred about four years later. It 
 grew out of another war, which, happily for us, was not oa 
 our borders, but in the heart of Europe, where the Hun- 
 garian race had risen in insurrection against the hated power 
 of Austria. Their desperate valor in the face of tremen- 
 dous odds excited the sympathy of the American people, 
 and fired the heart of Captain Mayne Reid, who buckled 
 on his sword once more, and sailed from New York with 
 a body of volunteers to aid the Hungarians in their struggles 
 for independence. They were too late, for hardly had 
 they reached Paris before they learned that all was over*, 
 trdrgey had surrendered at Arad, and Hungary was 
 Brushed. They were at once dismissed, and Captain Rei<| 
 betook himself to London. 
 
 3 
 
The life of the Mayne Heid in whom we ar« liost in- 
 terested — Mayne Reid, the author — began at this time, 
 when he was in his thirty-first year, and ended only on 
 the day of his death, October 21 r 1883. It covered one- 
 third of a century, and was, when compared with that 
 which had preceded it, uneventful, if not devoid of in- 
 cident. There is not much that needs be told — not much, 
 indeed, that can be told — in the life of a man of letters 
 like Captain Mayne Reid. It is written in his books. 
 Mayne Reid was one of the best known authors of hi3 
 time — differing in this from many authors who are popu- 
 lar without being known — and in the walk of fiction which 
 he discovered for himself he is an acknowledged mas- 
 ter. His reputation did not depend upon the admiration 
 of the millions of young people who read his books, but 
 upon the judgment of mature critics, to whom his delinea- 
 tions of adventurous life were literature of no common 
 order. His reputation as a story-teller was widely recog- 
 nized on the Continent, where he was accepted as an 
 authority in regard to the customs of the pioneers and the 
 guerilla warfare of the Indian tribes, and was warmly 
 praised for his freshness, his novelty, and his hardy origi- 
 nality. The people of France and Germany delighted in 
 this soldier-writer. " There was not a word in his hooka 
 which a school-boy could not safely read aloud to his 
 mother and sisters." So says a late English critic, to which, 
 another adds, that if he has somewhat gone out of fashion 
 of late years, the more's the pity for the school-boy of the 
 period. What Defoe is in Robinson Crusoe — realistic idyl 
 of island solitude — that, in his romantic stories of wilder* 
 life, is his great scholar, Captain Mayne Reid. 
 
 R. H. Stoddard, 
 4 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER L rACW. 
 
 A Chase ..." 
 
 CHAPTER IT. 
 A Call fob Boabdebs # . . 18 
 
 CHAPTER ILL 
 The Cutteb's Cbew « H 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 A Black Squall 39 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 A Bbacb of Bbitish Officees .38 
 
 CHAPTER VL 
 A Paib of Spanish Senobitas 48 
 
 CHAPTER VH. 
 A Couple of Califoenian "Caballebos" .... 68 
 
 CHAPTER VHL 
 An Encounteb Inevitable 68 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 A Ship without Satlobs 82 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 A Chabteb-Pabtt 88 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 In Seabch of a Second 98 
 
 8 
 
4 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. paoe 
 A "Paseo de Caballo" 104 
 
 CHAPTER XIIL 
 A "Golpe de Caballo" . !' 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 "Hasta Cadiz!" . 1* 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 On Pleasure bent . . . . . 127 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 A Tar of ttie Olden Tyts 136 
 
 CHAPTER XVH. 
 Unexpected Visitors . 143 
 
 CHAPTER XVni. 
 An Inhospitable Home .150 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 The "Bank" El Dorado 166 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 A Monte Bank in Full Blast 161 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 Fighting the Tiger 167 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 A Plucky "Sport" 173 
 
 CHAPTER XXin. 
 A Supper Carte-Blanche 177 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 Harry Blew Homeless 184 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 Crusaders to the Rescue 193 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 In Flight .... 199 
 
CONTENTS. 5 
 
 CHAPTER XXVH. page. 
 
 A Conversation with Orangs. . . , . 210 
 
 CHAPTER XXYin. 
 The Blue-Peter 217 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 Dreading a Duel .222 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 The Last Look . . ....... 229 
 
 CE, >ER XXXL 
 A- Solemn Compact 236 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 Ambre la Puerta!" 245 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 A Scratch Crew 252 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 "Adios, California!" . 257 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 A Tattoo that needs retouching . ... 263 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVl. 
 A Crew that means Mutiny .... . . 270 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 Two "Sydney Ducks" . 276 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII 
 Plot upon Plot 288 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX 
 Share and Share alike 295 
 
 CHAPTER XL, 
 "Land Ho!" 303 
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 Panama, or Santiago? ..... : 311 
 
6 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER XLTT. PAGB. 
 
 The Dreaded Ttntoreras .... . . . 313 
 
 CHAPTER XLTII. 
 The Bark abandoned • 328 
 
 CHAPTER XLTV. 
 Two Tarqudxs • 333 
 
 CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 OCEANWARDS ... . 343 
 
 CHAi*fER XLVI. 
 An Awkward Question 348 
 
 CHAPTER XLVTI. 
 A Duel adjourned . . . .... 359 
 
 CHAPTER XLVHL 
 Long Suffering , . . , , , , , , , 363 
 
 CHAPTER XLIX. 
 A Card unexpectedly recovered 369 
 
 CHAPTER L. 
 The Last Leaf in the Log 374 
 
 CHAPTER LI. 
 Starvation Point .381 
 
 CHAPTER LH. 
 An Avenging Nemesis 384 
 
 CHAPTER LELL 
 The Tables nearly turned . . , . « . ,391 
 
 CHAPTER LIT. 
 A Sailor's Trotj Yarn 101 
 
• 
 
 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 A CHASE. 
 
 IN mid-ocean, — the Pacific. Two ships are within 
 sight of one another, less than a league apart. 
 Both are sailing before the wind, running dead down it, 
 with full canvas spread ; not side by side, but one in 
 the wake of the other. 
 
 Is it a chase ? To all appearance it is ; a probabil- 
 ity strengthened by the relative size and character of 
 the ships. One is a bark, polacca-masted, her masts 
 raking back with the acute shark' s-fin set supposed to 
 be characteristic of the pirate. The other is a ship, 
 square rigged and full sized ; a row of real, not painted 
 ports, with a gun grinning out of each, proclaiming 
 her a man-of-war. She is one, — a frigate, as an}' sea- 
 man would say, after giving her a glance, And any 
 landsman might name her nationalit}'. The flag at her 
 peak is one known all over the world : it is the "Union 
 Jack" of England. 
 
 If it be a chase, she is the pursuer. Her col org 
 
 7 
 
8 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 might be accepted as surety of this, without regard to 
 the relative position ,of the vessels, which show the 
 frigate astern, the polices leading. 
 
 The latter also carries a flag, of nationality not sc 
 easily determined. Still is it the ensign of a naval 
 power, though one of little note. The five-pointed 
 white star, solitaiy in a blue field, proclaims it the 
 standard of Chili. 
 
 Wiry should an English frigate be chasing a Chilian 
 bark? There is no war between Great Britain and 
 Chili, the most prosperous of the South American 
 republics ; instead, peace-treaties, with relations of 
 the most amicable kind. Were the polacca flying a 
 flag of blood-red or black, with death's-head and 
 cross-bones, the chase would be intelligible. But the 
 bit of bunting at her masthead shows nothing on its 
 field, either of menace or defiance. On the contrar} T , it 
 appeals to pit} T , and asks for aid ; for it is an ensign 
 reversed, — in short, a signal of distress. 
 
 And yet the ship showing it is scudding before a 
 stiff breeze, with all sail set, stays taut, not a rope out 
 of place ! Strange this. Just the thought of every 
 one aboard the man-of-war, from the captain com- 
 manding to the latest joined " lubber of a landsman," 
 — a thought that has been in their minds ever since the 
 chase commenced. 
 
 For it is a chase ; that is, the frigate has sighted 
 f sail, and stood towards it. This without changing 
 course, as, when first espied, the stranger, rike herself, 
 was running before the wind. If slowly, the frigate 
 has been gradually forging nearer the pursued vessel ; 
 till at length the telescope tells her to be a bark, 
 revealing, also, the ensign reversed. 
 
 Nothing strange in this, of itself — unfortunately, a 
 
A STORY OF £HE SOUTH SEA. 9 
 
 si ght too common at sea. But that a vessel display- 
 ing signals of distress should be earning all sail, and 
 running away, or attempting to run away, from another 
 making to relieve her, above all, from a ship bearing 
 the British flag, — this is strange. And just thus 
 lias the polacca been acting, still is, — sailing on down 
 the wind, without slacking halyards, or lessening her 
 spread of canvas by a single inch. Certainly her 
 behavior is unaccountable, more than strange : it is 
 mysterious. 
 
 To this conclusion have the} 7 come on board the war- 
 ship, and naturally enough ; for there is that which 
 has imbued thsir thoughts with a tinge of superstition. 
 In addition to what the} 7 see, they have something 
 heard. Within the week the}' have spoken two vessels, 
 both of which reported this same bark, or one answer- 
 ing her description, — " Polacca-masted, all sail set, 
 ensign reversed." 
 
 A British brig, which the frigate's boat had boarded, 
 said that such a craft had run across her bows so 
 close, they could have thrown a rope to her ; that at 
 first no one was seen aboard, but, on being hailed, two 
 men made appearance, both springing up to the main 
 shrouds, thence answering the hail in a language alto- 
 gether unintelligible, and with hoarse croaking voices 
 that resembled the barking of muzzled mastiffs. 
 
 It was late twilight, almost night, when this 
 occurred ; but the brig's people could make out the 
 figures of the men as they clung on to the ratlines. 
 And what surprised them equally with the odd speech, 
 •vas, that both appeared to be clothed in skin-dresses, 
 covering their bodies from head to foot. Seeing the 
 signal of distress, the brig would have sent her boat 
 aboard ; but the bar!: gave no chance for this, keeping 
 
10 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 on without slacking sail, or showing any other sign of 
 a wish to communicate. 
 
 Standing by itself, the tale of the brig's crew might 
 have been taken for a sailor's yarn ; and, as they admit- 
 ted it to be " almost night," the obscurity would 
 account for the skin-clothing. But coupled with the 
 report of another vessel, which the frigate had since 
 spoken, — a whaler, — it seemed to receive full corrob- 
 oration. The words sent through the whaler's trumpet 
 were, "Bark sighted: latitude 10.22 S. ; longitude 
 95 W. Polacca-masted. All sail set. Ensign reversed. 
 Chilian. Men seen on board covered with red hair, 
 supposed skin-dresses. Tried to come up, but could 
 not. Bark a fast sailer. Went awa} r down wind." 
 
 Already in receipt of such intelligence, it is no won- 
 der that the frigate's crew feel something more than 
 mere surprise at sight of a vessel corresponding to 
 that about which these strange tales have been told. 
 For they are now near enough the bark to see that 
 she answers the description given: "Polacca-masted. 
 All sail set. Ensign reversed. Chilian." 
 
 And her behavior is as reported, — sailing away from 
 those who wish to answer her appealing signal, to all 
 appearance endeavoring to shun them. Only now has 
 the chase in reality commenced. Hitherto the frigate 
 was but keeping her own course. But the signal of 
 distress, just sighted through the telescope, has drawn 
 her on ; and, with canvas crowded, she steers straight 
 for the polacca. The latter is unquestionably a fasi 
 sailer ; but, although too swift for the whaler, she is 
 not a match for the man-of-war. Still she is no tub ; 
 and the chase is likely to be a long one. 
 
 As it continues, and the distance does not appear 
 very much, or very rapidly, diminishing, the fiigate'i 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 11 
 
 crew begin to doubt whether the strange craft will evei 
 be overtaken. On the foredeck the tars stand in 
 groups, mingled with marines, their e}~es bent upon 
 the retreating bark, pronouncing their comments in 
 muttered tones, manj* of the men with brows o'ercast ; 
 for a fancy has sprung up around the forecastle, tmu 
 the chased ship is no ship at all, but a phantom. This 
 fancy is gradually growing into a belief; faster as they 
 draw nearer, and with naked eye note her correspond- 
 ence with the reports of the spoken vessels. 
 
 The} r have not 3-et seen the skin-clad men — if men 
 they be. More like, imagine some, they will prove to 
 be spectres. 
 
 While on the quarter-deck there is no such supersti- 
 tious fancy : a feeling almost as intense agitates the 
 minds of those there assembled. The captain, sur- 
 rounded b} T his officers, stands, glass in hand, gazing at 
 the sail ahead. The frigate, though a fine vessel, is 
 not one of the fastest sailers ; else she might long ago 
 have lapped upon the polacca. Still has she been 
 gradually gaining, and is now less than a league astern. 
 But the breeze has been also gradually declining, which 
 is against her ; and for the last half-hour she has barely 
 preserved her distance from the bark. 
 
 To compensate for this, she runs out studding-sails 
 on all her yards, even to the i'03-als, and again makes 
 an effort to bring the chase to a termination. But 
 again is there disappointment. 
 
 " To no purpose, now," says her commander, as he 
 sees his last sail set. Then adding, as he casts a 
 glance at the sky, sternwards, " The wind's going 
 down. In ten minutes more we'll be becalmed." 
 
 Those around need not to be told this. The young- 
 est reefer there, looking at sky and sea, can forecast 
 '■he calm. 
 
12 
 
 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 In five minutes after, the frigate's sails are Capping 
 rtgainst the masts, and her flag hangs half folded. 
 
 In five more, the sails only show motion by an 
 occasional clout ; while the bunting droops dead down- 
 ward. 
 
 Within the ten, as foei captain predicted, the huge 
 war-ship, despite her extended canvas, lies motionless 
 on the sea. 
 
A STOBY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 13 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 A CALL FOR BOARDER 8. 
 
 THE frigate is becalmed : what of the bark ? 
 Has she been similarly checked in her course? 
 The question is asked b}~ all on board the war-ship, 
 each seeking the answer for himself; for all are ear- 
 nestly gazing at the strange sail, regardless of their 
 own condition. 
 
 Forward, the superstitious thought has become inten- 
 sified into something like fear. A calm coming on so 
 suddenly, just when they had hopes of soon overhaul- 
 ing the chased vessel — what could that mean ? Old 
 sailors shake their heads, refusing to make answer ; 
 while young ones, less cautious of speech, boldly pro- 
 nounce the polacca a spectre. The legends of the 
 Phantom Ship and Flying Dutchman are in their 
 thoughts and on their lips, as they stand straining 
 their eyes after the still receding vessel ; for beyond 
 doubt does she sail on with waves rippling around her. 
 
 " As I told ye, mates ! " remarks an old tar : " we'd 
 never catch up with that craft — not if we stood after 
 her till doomsday. And doomsday it might be for us, 
 if we did." 
 
 "I hope she'll keep on, and leave us a good spell 
 behind," rejoins a second. "It was a foolish thing 
 followin' her; and, for my part, I'll be^glad if we 
 never do catch up with her." 
 
 " You need have no fear about that," says the fiis* 
 2 
 
i4 THE FLAG OF DIS'IRESS. 
 
 speaker. "Just look! She's making way yet! 1 
 believe she can sail as well without wind as with it." 
 
 Scarce are the words spoken, when, as if to contra- 
 dict them, the sails of the chased vessel commence 
 denting against her masts ; while her flag falls folded, 
 and is no longer distinguishable as a signal of distress, 
 or aught else. The breeze that failed the frigate is 
 now also dead around the bark, which, in like manner, 
 has been caught in the calm. 
 
 " What do 3 T ou make her out, Mr. Black ?" asks 
 the frigate's captain of his first, ai the two stand look- 
 ing through their levelled glasses. 
 
 " Not any thing, sir," replies the lieutenant, " ex- 
 cept that she should be Chilian from her colors. I 
 can't see a soul aboard of her. Ah, 3-onder ! Some- 
 thing shows over the taffrail ! Looks like a man's 
 head? It's ducked suddenly." 
 
 A short silence succeeds, the commanding officer 
 busied with his binocular, endeavoring to catch sight 
 of the thing seen by his subordinate. It does not show 
 again. 
 
 " Odd," says the captain, resuming speech, " a ship 
 running up signals of distress, at the same time refus- 
 ing to be relieved — very odd ! Isn't it, gentlemen? " 
 ne asks, addressing himself to the group of officers 
 now gathered around. 
 
 Unanimous assent to his interrogatory. 
 
 "There must be something amiss," he continues. 
 44 Can any of 3*ou think what it is? " 
 
 To this there is a negative response. Lieutenants 
 and midshipmen seem all as puzzled as himself, m}'sti- 
 fied by the strange bark, and more by her strange 
 behavior. 
 
 There are two who have thoughts different from the 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 1£ 
 
 rest, — the third lieutenant, and one of the midshipmen, 
 —less thoughts than imaginings, and these so vague, 
 that neither communicates them to the captain, nor to 
 one another. And, whatever their fancies, they do not 
 appear pleasant ones, since on the faces of both is an 
 expression of something like anxiety. Slight, and 
 scarcely observable, it is not noticed b} T their comrades 
 standing around. It seems to deepen while they con- 
 tinue to gaze at the becalmed bark, as though due to 
 something seen there. Still the}' remain silent, keep- 
 ing the dark thought, if such it be, to themselves. 
 
 " Well, gentlemen," says the commanding officer to 
 his assembled subordinates, " I must say this is singu- 
 lar. In all my experience at sea, I don't remember 
 any thing like it. What trick the Chilian bark — if 
 she be Chilian — is up to, I can't guess, not for the 
 life of me. It cannot be a case of pirac}'. The craft 
 has no guns ; and, if she had, she appears without men 
 to handle them. It's a riddle all round: to get the 
 reading of it, we'll have to send a boat to her." 
 
 "I don't think we'll get a very willing crew, sir," 
 sa}'s the first lieutenant suggestively. "Forward, 
 they're quite superstitious about the character of the 
 chase. Some of them fancy her the Flying Dutchman. 
 When the boatswain pipes for boarders, the3^'ll very 
 likely feel as if his whistle were a signal for them to 
 ralk the plank." 
 
 The remark causes the captain to smile, as the other 
 officers ; though two of the latter abstain from this 
 exhibition of merriment. These are the third lieuten- 
 ant and midshipman, — already mentioned, — on both 
 of whose brows the cloud still sits, seeming darker 
 than ever. 
 
 "Isn't it strange," continue? the commander mus* 
 
16 THE FLAG OF DISTBESS. 
 
 ragly, " that 3 T our genuine British tar, who will board 
 an enemy's ship, crawling across the muzzle of a 
 shot tec gun ; who has no fear of death in human 
 shape ••-will act like a scared child when it threatens 
 liim in the guise of his satanic majesty ? I have no 
 doubt, as you say, Mr. Black, that those fellows by 
 the forecastle are a bit shy about boarding this strange 
 vessel. But let me show you how to send their shy- 
 ness adrift. I shall do that with a single word." 
 
 The captain steps forward, his subordinates following 
 him. When within speaking-distance of the foredeck, 
 he stops, and makes sign that he has something to say. 
 The tars are all attention. 
 
 "My lads!" he exclaims, "you see that bark 
 we've been chasing, and at her masthead a flag re- 
 versed, which you know to be a signal of distress? 
 That is a call never to be disregarded 03* an English 
 ship, much less an English man-of-war. Lieutenant, 
 order a boat to be lowered, and let the boatswain pipe 
 for boarders. Only volunteers will be taken. Those 
 who wish to go will muster on the main-deck." 
 
 A loud "hurrah!" responds to the appeal; and, 
 while its echoes are still resounding through the ship, 
 the whole crew seems crowding towards the main-deck. 
 Scores of volunteers present themselves, enough to 
 m;an every boat aboard. 
 
 "Now, gentlemen," says the captain, turning to his 
 officers with a proud expression on his countenance, 
 " there's the British sailor for 3*011 ! I've said he fears 
 not man ; and when humanity makes call, as 3*ou see. 
 neither is he frightened at a fancied ghost." 
 
 A second cheer succeeds the speech, mingled witl 
 O ^od -humored remarks, though not any loud laughter. 
 The sailors simply acknowledge the jompliment thei? 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 17 
 
 commanding officer has paid them, at the same 4ime 
 feel'ng that the moment is too solemn for merriment', 
 for their instinct of humanity is yet under control of 
 the weird feeling. As the captain turns aft to the 
 quarter, many of them fall away toward the fore-deck, 
 till the group of volunteers for bearding has got great- 
 ly diminished. Still are there enough to man the 
 largest boat in the ship. . 
 
 " What boat is it to be, sir?" 
 
 This question is asked bj T the first lieutenant, as he 
 follows the captain aft. 
 
 " The cutter," answers his superior, adding, "I 
 think, Mr. Black, there's no necessity for sending any 
 other. The cutter's crew will be sufficient. As to 
 any hostility from those on board the stranger, that is 
 absurd. "We could blow them out of the water with a 
 single broadside." 
 
 " Who's to command the cutter, sir?" 
 
 The captain reflects, with a look sent inquiringly 
 around. His eye falls upon the third lieutenant, who 
 stands near, seemingly courting the glance. It is 
 short and decisive. The captain knows his third 
 officer to be a thorough seamen ; though j'oung, capable 
 of any duty, however delicate or dangerous. Without 
 further hesitation, he assigns him to the command of 
 the boarders. 
 
 The young officer enters upon the service with 
 alacrity, — something more than the meie obedience 
 due to discipline. He hastens to the ship's side to 
 superintend the lowering of the boat. He does not 
 stand at rest, but is seen to help and hurry it, with a 
 look of anxious impatience in his eye, and the cloud 
 still observable on his brow. While thus occupied, he 
 is accosted by another officer, one yet younger than 
 himself, — the midshipman already mentioned. 
 
18 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 " Can I go with 3 T ou? ' the latter asks. 
 
 " Certainly, my dear fellow," responds the lieuten 
 ant in friendly familiar tone. " I shall be only toe 
 pleased to have yon. But you must get the captain's 
 consent." 
 
 The young officer glides aft, sees the frigate's com- 
 mander upon the quarter-deck, and, saluting, saj's, 
 " Captain, may I go with the cutter? " 
 
 " Well, yea," responds the chief. " I have no 
 objection." Then, after taking a survey of the young- 
 ster, he adds, u Why do 3*011 want it? " 
 
 The youth blushes, without replying. There is a 
 cast upon his countenance that strikes the questioner, 
 somewhat puzzling him. But there is no time either 
 for further inquiry or reflection. The cutter is already 
 lowered, and rests upon the water. Her crew is crowd- 
 ing into her ; and she will soon be shoved off from 
 the ship. 
 
 " You can go, lad," assents the captain. " Report 
 yourself to the third lieutenant, and tell him I've given 
 you leave. You're young, and, like all youngsters, 
 ambitious of gaining glory. Well, in this affair you 
 won't have much chance, I take it. It's simply boaid- 
 ing a ship in distress, where you'll be more likery to be 
 a spectator of scenes of suffering. However, that will 
 be a lesson for 3-011, and therefore you may go." 
 
 Thus authorized, the 3 T oung reefer glides a^ray from 
 the quarter-deck, drops down into the boat, and take? 
 his seat alongside the lieutenant, already there. 
 
 The two ships still lie becalmed, in the same relative 
 position to one another, having changed from it scarce 
 a cable's length, and stem to stern, just as the last 
 breath of the breeze, blown gentty against their sails, 
 forsook thorn. 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 19 
 
 On both the canvas is still spread, though not 
 bellied. It hangs limp and loose, giving an occasional 
 flap, so feeble as to show that it proceeds, not from 
 any stir in the air, but the mere balancing motion of 
 the vessels; for there is now not enough breeze blow- 
 ing to flout the long feathers in the tail of the tropic 
 bird seen soaring aloft. 
 
 Both ships are motionless, their forms reflected in 
 the water, so that each has its counterpart, keel to 
 keel. 
 
 Between them, the sea is smooth as a mirror, — that 
 tranquil calm which has given to the Pacific its dis- 
 tinctive appellation. It is now to be disturbed, fur- 
 rowed by the bow of the cutter, with her stroke of ten 
 oars, five on each side. Almost as soon as down from 
 the davits, her crew seated on the thwarts, and her 
 cockswain at the tiller, the lieutenant gives the com- 
 mand to " shove off." Parting from the frigate's 
 beam, the boat is steered straight for the becalmed 
 bark. 
 
 On board the man-of-war, all stand watching her, 
 their eyes at intervals directed towards the strange 
 vessel. From the frigate's forward-deck, the men 
 have an unobstructed view, especially those clustering 
 around the head. Still there is nearly a league 
 between ; and with the naked e} r e this hinders minute 
 ODservation. They can but see the white-spread sails, 
 and the black hull underneath them. With a glass, the 
 flag, now fallen, is just distinguishable from the mast, 
 along which it clings closely. The} r can perceive that 
 its color is <,rimson above, with blue and white under- 
 neath, — the reversed order of the Chilian ensign. Its 
 sirgle star is no longer visible, nor aught of its herald- 
 ry, that spoke so appealingly. But, if the sight fails 
 
20 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 to furnish them with details, these are amply supplied 
 by their excited imaginations. Some of them see men 
 aboard the bark — scores, hundreds ! After all, she 
 may be a pirate, and the upside-down ensign a decoy, 
 On a tack,»she may be a swifter sailer than she has 
 shown herself before the wind, and, knowing this, has 
 been but plaj'ing with the frigate. If so, God help 
 the cutter's crew ! 
 
 Besides these conjectures of the common kind, there 
 are those on the frigate's fore-deck, who, in truth, 
 fanc} T the polacca a spectre. As they continue gazing, 
 now at the boat, now at the bark, they expect every 
 moment to see the one sink beneath the sea, and the 
 other sail off, or melt into invisible air. 
 
 On the quarter, speculation is equally rife, though 
 running in a different channel. There the captain still 
 stands surrounded by his officers, each with glass to 
 his eye, levelled upon the strange craft. But they see 
 nought to give them a clew to her character ; only the 
 loose-spread sails, and the furled flag of distress. 
 They continue gazing till the cutter is close to the 
 bark's beam. Nor yet can they observe any head 
 above the bulwarks, or face peering through the shrouds. 
 The fancy of the forecastle has crept aft among the 
 officers. They, too, begin to feel something of super- 
 stitious fear, an awe of the uncanny. 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA 23 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE CUTTER'S CREW. 
 
 MANNED by ten stout tars, with as many or,rs 
 propelling her, the cutter cleaves the water like 
 a knife. The lieutenant, seated in the stern-sheets, 
 with the mid by his side, directs the movements of the 
 boat ; while the glances of both are kept constantly 
 upon the bark. In their e}-es is an earnest expression, 
 quite different from that of ordinary interrogation. 
 
 The men ma3 T not observe it : if they do, it is t, ith- 
 out comprehension of its meaning. They can but 
 think of it as resembling their own, and proceeding 
 from a like cause. For, although with backs turned 
 towards the bark, they cast occasional glances over 
 their shoulders, in which curiosity is commingled with 
 apprehension. 
 
 Despite theii natural courage, strengthened by the 
 late appeal to their humanity, the awe is again upon 
 them. Insidiously returning as they took their seats 
 in the boat, it increases as they row farther from the 
 ship, and nearer to the strange vessel. Less than half 
 in hour has elapsed, and they are within a cable's 
 length of the latter. 
 
 " Hold, now ! " commands the lieutenant 
 
 The oar-stroke is instantly suspended, and the blades 
 held aloft. The boat gradually loses way, and at 
 length rests station sltj on the tranquil water. 
 
 All eyes are bent upon the bark. Glances go search- 
 
22 THE FLAG OF DISTKESS. 
 
 mgly along her bulwarks, from poop to piow. £ta 
 preparations to receive them ! No ono appears on 
 deck, — not a head seen over the rail ! 
 
 " Bark, ahoy ! " hails the lieutenant. 
 
 "Bark, atuyv ! " is heard in fainter tone. It is no 
 answer ; only the echo of the officer's voice, coming 
 back from the hollow timbers of the becalmed vessel. 
 There is again silence, more profound than ever ; for 
 the sailors in the boat have ceased talking, their awe, 
 now intense, holding them speechless. 
 
 "Bark, ahoy!" again shouts the lieutenant, louder 
 than before, but with like result. As before, he is 
 only answered by echo. There is either nobotfv 
 aboard, or no one who thinks it worth while to make 
 rejoinder. The first supposition seems absurd, look- 
 ing at the sail ; the second, equally so, regarding the 
 flag at the main royal masthead, and taking into 
 account its character. A third hail from the officer, 
 this time vociferated in loudest voice, with the inter- 
 rogatory added, "Any one aboard?" 
 
 To the question no reply, any more than to the hail. 
 Silence continues, — stillness intense, awe-inspiring. 
 They in the boat begin to doubt the evidence of their 
 senses. Is there a bark before their e}-es? Or is it 
 all an illusion ? How can a vessel be under sad — full 
 sail — without sailors ? And, if any, why do they not 
 show at her side ? Why have they not answered the 
 hail thrice shouted, the last time loud enough to be 
 heard within her hold? It should have awakened hex 
 crew, even if asleep in the forecastle. 
 
 " Give way again! " cries the lieutenant. " Bring 
 up on the starboard side, cockswain, under the fore- 
 chains." 
 
 The oars are dipped, and the cutter moves on. Bui 
 
A STOBY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 23 
 
 scarce is she in motion, when once more the officer 
 commands, " Hold ! " 
 
 With his voice mingle others, coming from the bark. 
 Her people seem at length to have become aroused 
 from then* sleep, or stupor. A noise is heard upon her 
 deck, as of a scuffle, accompanied b} T cries of strange 
 intonation. Soon two heads, apparently human, show 
 above the bulwarks ; two faces flesh colored, and thinly 
 covered with hair. Then the whole bodies appear, 
 also human like, save that they are hairy all over, — > 
 hair of a foxy red. The}' swarm up the shrouds, and, 
 clutching the ratlines, shake them with quick violent 
 jerks ; at the same time uttering what appears angry 
 speech, in an unknown tongue, and harsh voice, as if 
 chiding off the intruders. O11I3" a short way up the 
 shrouds, just as far as they could spring from the deck, 
 and only staying a little while there ; then they drop 
 down again, disappearing as abruptly as they had 
 shown themselves. 
 
 The lieutenant's command was a word thrown away. 
 Without it, the men would have discontinued their 
 stroke. They have done so, and sit with bated breath, 
 ej^es strained, ears listening, and lips mute, as if all 
 had been suddenly and simultaneously struck dumb. 
 Silence throughout the boat, silence aboard the bark, 
 silence everywhere ; the only sound heard being the. 
 " drip-drop " of the water as it falls from the feathered 
 oar-blades. 
 
 For a time the cutter's crew remain speechless, not 
 one essaying to speak a word. They are so, less from 
 surprise than sheer stark terror. It is depicted on 
 their faces, and no wonder it should. What they have 
 just seen is sufficient to terrify the stoutest hearts, even 
 those of tried tars, as all of them are. A whip manned 
 
24 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 by hairy men — a crew of veritable Orsons ! Certainly, 
 enough to startle the most phlegmatic, mariner, and 
 make him tremble as he tugs at the oar. But they 
 have ceased tugging at their oars, and hold them, 
 blades suspended, along with their breath. One alone 
 musters sufficient courage to mutter out, " Gracious 
 goodness ! Shipmates, what can it mean? " 
 
 He receives no answer, though the silence comes to 
 an end. It is broken by the voice of the lieutenant, 
 and also that of the junior officer. They do not speak 
 simultaneously, but one after the other. The supersti 
 tious fear pervading the minds of the men does not 
 extend to them. They, too, have their fears, but of a 
 different kind, and from a different cause. As yet, 
 neither has communicated to the other what he himself 
 has been thinking, the thoughts of both being hitherto 
 vague, but every moment becoming more defined ; and 
 the appearance of the red men upon the ratlines — 
 strange to the sailors — seems to have made things 
 more intelligible to them. Judging by the expression 
 upon their faces, they comprehend what has puzzled 
 their companions, and with a sense of anxiety more 
 than fear, more of doubt than dismay. 
 
 The lieutenant speaks first, shouting in command, 
 " Give way ! Quick ! Pull in ! Head on for the fore- 
 chains ! " 
 
 He acts in an excited manner, appearing nervously 
 impatient. As if mechanically, the midshipman repeats 
 the order, imitating the mien of his superior. The 
 men execute it, but slowly, and with evident reluc- 
 tance. They know their officers to be daring fellow? 
 both ; but now they deem them rash, even to reck- 
 lessness ; for they cannot comprehend the motives 
 urging them to action. Still they obey ; and the prow 
 of the boat strikes the bark abeam. 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 25 
 
 " Grapple on ! " sings out the senior officei, soon as 
 touching. A boat-hook takes grip in the chains ; and 
 the cutter, swinging round, lies at rest alongside. 
 The lieutenant is alread} r on his feet, as also the micL 
 Ordering only the cockswain to follow, they spring up 
 to the chains, lay hold, and lift themselves aloft. 
 
 Obedient to orders, the men remain in the boat ; 
 still keeping their seat on the thwarts, in wonder at 
 the bold bearing of their officers, at the same time 
 silently admiring it. 
 
 Balancing themselves on the rail, the latter look 
 down upon the deck of the polacca. Their glances 
 sweep it forward, aft, and amid-ships ; ranging from 
 stem to stern, and back again. Nothing seen there 
 to explain the strangeness of things, nothing heard. 
 No sailor on deck, nor officer on the quarter ; only 
 the two strange beings that had shown tnemselves on 
 the shrouds. These are still visible, one of them 
 standing by the mainmast, the other crouching near 
 the caboose. Both again give out their jabbering 
 speech, accompanying it with gestures of menace. 
 Disregarding this, the lieutenant leaps down upon the 
 deck, and makes towards them ; the mid and cockswain 
 keeping close after. 
 
 At their approach, che hirsute monsters retreat, not 
 scared-like, but with a show of defiance, as if disposed 
 to contest possession of the place. They give back, 
 however, bit by bit, till at length, ceasing to dispute, 
 (hey shuffle towards the quarter, and then on to the 
 poop. Neither of the two officers pays any attention to 
 their demonstrations ; and the movement aft is not 
 made for them. Both lieutenant and midshipman seem 
 excited by other thoughts, some stronger impulse ur- 
 ging them on. Alone is the cockswain mystified by the 
 
 3 
 
20 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS- 
 
 hairy men, and not a little alarmed ; but, without 
 speaking, he follows his superiors. 
 
 They continue on toward the quarter-deck, making 
 for the cabin-door. Having boarded the bark by the 
 fore- chains, the} 7 must pass the caboose, going alt. 
 Its sliding panel is open ; and, when opposite, all three 
 come to a stand. They are brought to it by a faint 
 cry issuing out of the cook's quarters. Looking in, 
 they behold a spectacle sufficiently singular to detain 
 them. It is more than singular : it is startling. On 
 the bench in front of the galley-fire, which shows as 
 if long extinguished, sits a man, bolt upright, his 
 back against the bulkhead. Is it a man, or only the 
 dead bovty of one ? Certainly it is a human figure ; 
 or, speaking more precisely, a human skeleton with 
 the skin still on, this as black as the coal-cinders in 
 Ihe grate in front of it. 
 
 It is a man, a negro, and still living; for, at sight 
 of them, he betrays motion, and makes an attempt to 
 speak. 
 
 Only the cockswain stays to listen, or hear what he 
 has to sa3 T . The others hurry on aft, making direct 
 for the door of the cabin, which, between decks, is 
 approached b} r a stairwa}\ Reaching this, the} r rush 
 down, and stand before the door, which they find 
 shut ; only closed, not locked. It yields to the turn- 
 ing of the handle, and, opening, gives them admission 
 They enter hastily, one after the other, without cere- 
 mony or announcement. Once inside, they as quickly 
 come to a stop, both looking aghast. The spectacle 
 in the caboose was nought to what is now before their 
 eyes. That was but startling : this is appalling. 
 
 It is the main-cabin tiiey have entered, not a large 
 one; for the polacca has not been intended to carrj 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 27 
 
 passengers. Still, is it snug and roomy enough for a 
 lable six feet by four. Such a one stands in its centre, 
 its legs fixed in the floor, with four chairs around it, 
 similarly stanchioned. 
 
 On the table there are decanters and dishes, along- 
 side glasses and plates. It is a dessert service, and 
 on the dishes are fruits, cakes, and sweetmeats, with 
 fragments of these upon the plates. The decanters 
 contain wines of different sorts, and there are appear- 
 ances as of wine having been in the glasses. 
 
 There are four sets, corresponding to the four 
 chairs ; and, to all appearance, this number of guests 
 has been seated at the table. But two of the chairs 
 are empty, as if their occupants had retired to an inner 
 state-room. It is the side-seats that are unoccupied ; 
 and a fan lying on one, with a scarf over the back of 
 that opposite, proclaim their last occupants to have 
 been ladies. 
 
 Two guests are still at the table, — one at its head, 
 the other at its foot, facing each other. And such 
 guests ! Both are men, though, unlike him in the ca- 
 boose, they are white. But, like him, they, too, appear 
 in the extreme of emaciation, — jaws with the skin 
 drawn tightly over them, cheek-bones prominent, chins 
 protruding, eyes sunken in their sockets. 
 
 Not dead, either ; for their e3 T es, glancing and glar- 
 ng, still show life ; but there is little other evidence 
 of it. Sitting stiff in the chairs, rigidly erect, they 
 mak3 no attempt to stir, no motion of either body or 
 limbs, which seem as if fro in both all strength had 
 departed, their famished figures denoting the last 
 stages of starvation. And this in front of a table fur- 
 nished v>ith choice wines, fruits, and other comestibles, 
 in short, loaded with delicacies ! What can it all 
 mean? 
 
28 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 Not tb-s question, but a cry, comes from the lips of 
 tho two officers, as they stand regarding the strange 
 tnn'srd. Onlv for an instant. Then the lieutenant, 
 r*««kng back up the stair, and on to the side, calls out, 
 "'To the ship, and bring the doctor ! Quick, quick ! " 
 
 The boat's crew, obedient, row off with alacrity. 
 Cney are but too glad to get away from the suspected 
 ■«pot. As they strain at their oars, with faces turned 
 toward the bark, and e}'es wonderingly bent upon her, 
 they see nought to give them a clew to the conduct of 
 their officers, or in any way elucidate the series of 
 mysteries, now prolonged to a chain. One, imbueri 
 with a strong belief in the supernatural, shakes his 
 head, saying, " Shipmates, we may never see that lieu- 
 tenant again, nor the young reefer, nor the old cocks' n 
 — never! " 
 
 Duiing all this time, those on board the man-of-war 
 have stood regarding the bark, at the same time watch- 
 ing the movements of the boat. Only they who have 
 glasses can see what is passing with any distinctness ; 
 for the day is not a bright one, a haze over the sea 
 hindering observation. It has arisen since the fall of 
 the wind, perhaps caused by the calm ; and, though but 
 a mere film, at such far distance it interferes with the 
 view through the telescopes. Those using them can 
 just tell that the cutter has closed in upon the strange 
 vessel, and is lying along under the foremast shrouds, 
 while some of her crew appear to have swarmed up the 
 chains. This cannot be told for certain. The haze 
 around the bark is more dense than elsewhere, as if 
 steam were passing off from her sides ; and througn 
 this objects show only confusedly. 
 
 While the frigate's people are straining their eyes U 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 29 
 
 make ojo the movements of the cutter, an officer, of 
 sharper sight than the rest, cries, " Se^ ! the boat is 
 coming back." 
 
 All perceive this, and with some surprise. It is not 
 ten minutes since the boat grappled on. Why return- 
 ing so soon ? 
 
 While the}' are conjecturing as to the cause, the 
 same officer again observes something that has escaped 
 the others. There are but eight oars, instead of ten, — 
 the regulation strength of the cutter, — and ten men 
 where before there were thirteen. Three of the boat's 
 crew have remained behind. 
 
 This causes neither alarm nor uneasiness to the fri- 
 gate's officers. They take it that the three have gone 
 aboard the bark, and for some reason, whatever it be, 
 elected to stay there. Thej- know the third lieutenant 
 to be not only brave, but a man of quick decision, and 
 prompt to act. He has boarded the distressed vessel, 
 discovered the cause of distress, and sent the cutter 
 back to bring whatever may be needed for her relief. 
 Thus reasons the quarter-deck. 
 
 It is different on the fore, where apprehensions are 
 rife about their missing shipmates, fears that some 
 misfortune has befallen them. True, no shots have 
 been heard, nor flashes seen. Still they could have 
 been killed without fire-arms ; and savages might use 
 other and less noisy weapons. The tale of the skin- 
 clad crew gives color to this supposition. But then 
 the crew of the cutter went armed ; in addition to 
 their cutlasses, being provided with pikes and boarding- 
 pistols. Had they been attacked, they would not have 
 retreated without discharging the last, less likely 
 leaving three of their number behind. But there have 
 been no signs of strife or struggle seen. All the 
 3* 
 
30 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 more mystery; and, pondering upon it, the frigate' t 
 crew are but strengthened in their superstitious faith. 
 
 Meanwhile, the cutter is making wa}^ across the 
 stretch of calm sea that separates the two ships, and, 
 although with reduced strength of rowers, cleaves the 
 water quickly. The movements of the men indicate 
 excitement. They pull as if rowing in a regatta. 
 
 Soon they are near enough to be individually recog- 
 nized ; when it is seen that neither of the two officers 
 is in the boat, nor the cockswain, one of the oarsmen 
 having taken his place at the tiller. 
 
 As the boat draws nearer, and the faces of the two 
 men seated in the stern-sheets can be distinguished, 
 there is observed upon them an expression which none 
 can interpret. No one tries. All stand silently wait- 
 ing till the cutter comes alongside, and, sweeping past 
 the bows, brings up on the frigate's starboard beam, 
 under the main-chains. 
 
 The officers move forward along the gangwa} r , and 
 stand looking over the bulwarks ; while the men come 
 crowding aft as far as permitted. The curiosity of all 
 receives a check, an abrupt disappointment. There 
 is no news from the bark, save the meagre scrap con- 
 tained in the lieutenant's order, " Bring the doctor.' ' 
 
 Beyond this, the cutter's crew only know that the} T 
 have seen the haiiy men, — seen and heard them, 
 though without understanding a word of what thev 
 said. Two had sprung upon the shrouds, and shouted 
 at the cutter's people, as if scolding them off. 
 
 The tale spreads through the frigate, fore and aft, 
 quick as a train of powder ignited. It is everywhere 
 talked of, and commented on. On the quarter, it is 
 deemed si range enough ; while forward, it furthel 
 intensifies the belief in something supernatural. 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 5H 
 
 The tars give credulous ear to their comrade, again 
 repeating what he said in the boat, and in the selfsame 
 words. " Shipmates, we ma}^ never see that lieutenant 
 again, nor the }T>ung reefer, nor the old cocks' n — 
 never! " 
 
 The boding speech seems a prophecy already realized. 
 Scarce has it passed the sailor's lips, when a cry rings 
 through the ship that startles all aboard, thrilling them 
 more intensely than ever. 
 
 AVhile the men have been commenting upon the mes- 
 sage brought back from the bark, and the officers are 
 taking steps to hasten its execution, — the doctor get- 
 ting out his instruments, with such medicines as the 
 occasion seems to call for, — the strange vessel haj 
 been for a time unthought of. 
 
 The cry just raised recalls her, causing them tc rush 
 towards the frigate's side, and once more bend their 
 eyes on the bark. 
 
 No, not on her, only in the direction where she was 
 last seen ; for, to their astonishment, the polacca has 
 disappeared. 
 
THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 A BLACK SQUALL. 
 
 THE surprise caused by the disappearance of the 
 strange vessel is but short-lived. It is explained 
 by a very natural phenomenon, — a fog ; not the haze 
 already spoken of, but- a dense bank of dark vapor, 
 that, drifting over the surface of the sea, has suddenly 
 enveloped the bark within its floating folds. It threat- 
 ens to do the same with the frigate, as every sailor 
 aboard of her can perceive. But, though their sur- 
 prise is at an end, a sense of undefined fear still holds 
 possession of them. Nor is this on account of the 
 coming fog. That could not frighten men who have 
 dared eveiy danger of the deep, and oft groped their 
 way through ic} r seas shrouded in almost amorphous 
 darkness. 
 
 Their fears spring from a fancy that the other phe- 
 nomena are not natural. The fog of itself may be ; 
 but what brings it on, — just then, at a crisis, whec 
 they were speculating about the character of the chased 
 a essel, some doubting her honest}', others sceptical of 
 her realitj^, not a few boldly denouncing her as a phan- 
 tom? If an accident of K*li"-e, certainly a remarkable 
 one ; in truth, a strange phenomenon. 
 
 The reader may slnile at credulity of this kind, but 
 not he who has mixed among the men of the forecastle, 
 whatever the nationality of the ship, and whether 
 merchantman or man-of-war. No' all the training of 
 
A STOKY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 33 
 
 naval schools, nor the boasted enlightenment of this 
 onr age, has fully eradicated from the mind of the 
 canvas-clad mariner a belief in something more than 
 he has seen, or can see, — something outside Nature. 
 To suppose him emancipated from this would be to 
 hold him of higher intelligence than his fellow-men 
 who stay ashore ploughing the soil, as he does the sea. 
 To thousands of these he can point, saying, " Behold 
 the believers in supernatural existences, in spirit* 
 rappings, ay, in very ghosts ; this not only in days 
 gone b} r , but now — now more than ever within mem- 
 ory of man ! ' ' Then let not landsmen scoff at such 
 fancies, not a whit more absurd than their own credu- 
 lous conceits. 
 
 Aside from this sort of feeling in the war-ship, there 
 is soon a real and far more serious apprehension, in 
 which all have a share, officers as well as men. A fog 
 is before their eyes, apparently fast approaching. It 
 has curtained the other vessel, spreading over her like 
 a pall, and threatens to do the same with their own. 
 They perceive, also, that it is not a fog of the ordinary 
 kind, but one that portends storm, sudden and violent ; 
 for they are threatened by the black squall of the 
 Pacific. Enough in the name to cause uneasiness about 
 the safety of their ship ; though not of her are they 
 thinking. She is a stanch vessel, and can stand the 
 sea's buffe tings. Their anxiety is for their absent 
 shipmates, whose peril all comprehend. They know 
 the danger of the two vessels getting separated in a 
 fog. If they do, what will be the fate of those who 
 have staid behind on the bark? The strange craft 
 has been signalling distress. Is it scarcity of provis- 
 ions, or the want of water? If so, in either case sho 
 will be worse off than ever. It cannot be shortness of 
 
84 THE FLAG OF DISTEESS. 
 
 hands to work her sails, with these all set ! Sickness* 
 then? Some scourge afflicting her crew, — cholera, 01 
 yellow-fever? This made probable by the lieutenant 
 sending back for the doctor, and the doctor only. 
 
 Conjecturing ends, and suddenly : the time for action 
 has arrived. The dark cloud comes driving on, and is 
 soon around the ship, lapping her in its damp, murky 
 embrace. It clings to her bulwarks, pours over her 
 canvas, still spread, wetting it till big drops rain down 
 ■ipon the deck. It is no longer a question of the sur- 
 geon starting forth on his errand of humanit} r , nor the 
 cutter returning to the becalmed bark. Now there 
 is no more chance of discovering the latter than of 
 finding a needle in a truss of straw. In such a fog, 
 the finest ship that ever sailed sea, with the smartest 
 crew that ever manned vessel, would be helpless as ~ 
 man groping his waj 7 in Cimmerian darkness. There 
 is no more thought of the bark, and not so much about 
 the absent officers. Out of sight, the\ T are, for a time, 
 almost out of mind ; for on board the frigate everv 
 one has now enough to do looking after himself and 
 his duties. Almost on the instant of her sails being 
 enveloped in vapor, they are struck b}' a wind coming 
 from a quarter directly opposite to that for which they 
 have been hitherto set. 
 
 The voice of her commander, heard thundering 
 through a trumpet, directs canvas to be instantly taken 
 in. The order is executed with the promptness pecu- 
 liar tc men-of-wai's men; and, soon after, the huge 
 ship is tossing amid tempestuous waves, with only 
 storm-sails set. A ship under storm-canvas is a sight 
 always melancholy to the mariner : it tells of a struggle 
 with winds and waves, a serious conflict with the ele* 
 rnents, which may well cause anxiety. 
 
A STOEY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 35 
 
 Such is the situation of the British frigate soon aa 
 surrounded by the fog. The sea, lately tranquil, is 
 now madly raging ; the waves tempest lashed, their 
 crests like the manes of white horses in headlong ga] 
 lop. Amid them the huge war- vessel, — but a while 
 before almost motionless, a leviathan, — apparently the 
 sea's lord, is now its slave, and soon maybe its victim. 
 Dancing like a cork, she is buffeted from billow to 
 billow, or thrown into the troughs between, as if cast 
 there in scorn. Her crew are fully occupied taking care 
 of her, without thought of any other vessel, even one 
 flying a flag of distress. Ere long they may have to 
 hoist the same signal themselves. But there are skilled 
 seamen aboard, who well know what to do, who watch 
 and ward every sea that comes sweeping along. Some 
 of these tumble the big ship about till the steersmen 
 feel her going almost regardless of the rudder. 
 
 There are but two courses left for safety ; and her 
 captain weighs the choice between them. He must 
 " lie to," and ride out the gale, or " scud" before it. 
 To do the latter might take him away from the strange 
 vessel (now no longer seen) ; and she might never be 
 sighted by them again. Ten chances to one if she ever 
 would ; for she ma} T not elect to run down the wind. 
 Even if she did, there would be but slight hope of 
 overhauling her, supposing the storm to continue for 
 any considerable time. The probabilities are that she 
 will lie to. As the frigate's lieutenant will no doubt 
 have control, he will order her sails to be taken in: he 
 would so^iv;e think of parting from that spot. 
 
 Thus reflecting, the captain determines to stay where 
 he is. Every thing has been made snag, and the 
 ship's head set close to wind. 
 
 Still, aboard of her, brave hearts are filled wirh sad 
 
36 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 forebodings ; not from an}' fear for themselves, but the 
 safety of their shipmates in the bark. Both of the 
 absent officers are favorites with their comrades of the 
 quarter, as with the crew. So, too, the cockswain whc 
 accompanies them. What will be their fate? All are 
 thinking of it, though no one offers a surmise. No 
 one can tell to what they have committed themselves. 
 'Tis only sure, that, in the tempest now raging, there 
 must be danger to the strange craft, without counting 
 that signalized by her reversed ensign, without thought 
 of the nvysteiy alreadj' inwrapping her. The heart of 
 every man on board the war-ship is beating with hu- 
 manity, and pulsing with pent-up fear. And while 
 the waves are fiercely assaulting the strong ship, while 
 winds are rattling loud amidst her rigging, a yet louder 
 sound mingles with their monotone. It is given out 
 at regularty measured intervals ; for it is the minute- 
 gun which the frigate has commenced firing, not as a 
 signal of distress, asking for assistance, but one of 
 counsel and cheer, seeking to give it. Every sixtj 7 
 seconds, amidst the wild surging of waves, and the 
 hoarse howling of winds, the louder boom of cannon 
 breaks their harsh continuit}'. 
 
 The night comes down, adding to the darkness, 
 though not much to the dilemma in which the frigate is 
 placed. The fog and storm combined have already 
 made her situation dangerous as might be : it could not 
 well be worse. Both continue throughout the night ; 
 and on through all the night she keeps discharging the 
 signal-guns. No one aboard of her thinks of listening 
 for a response. In all probability, there is no cannon, 
 nothing, upon the bark, that could give it. Close 
 upon the hour of morning, the storm begins to abate, 
 and the clouds to dissipate. The fog seems to be lift 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. BT 
 
 Ing, or drifting off to some other part of the ocean, 
 With hope again dawning comes the dawn of day 
 The crew of the frigate — every man of them, officers 
 and tars — are upon deck. The}' stand along the ship's 
 sides, ranged in rows b} T the bulwarks, looking out 
 across the sea. 
 
 There is no fog now, not the thinnest film. The 
 sky is clear as crystal, and blue as a boat-race ribbon 
 fresh unfolded; the sea the same, its big waves no 
 longer showing sharp white crests, but rounded, and 
 rolling gently along. Over these the sailors look, scan- 
 ning the surface. Their gaze is sent to every quarter, 
 every point of the compass. The officers sweep the 
 horizon with their glasses, ranging around the circle 
 where the two blues meet. But neither naked e}-e nor 
 telescope can discover aught there. Onh T sea and sky ; 
 an albatross with pinions of grander spread, or & 
 tropic bird, its long tail-feathers trailing, trainlike ; 
 behind it ; no bark, polacca-rigged or otherwise, nc 
 ship of any kind, no sign of sail, no canvas, except 
 a full set of " courses," which the frigate herself has 
 now set. She is alone upon the ocean, — in the 
 mighty Pacific, — a mere speck upon its far-stretching, 
 illimitable expanse. Every man aboard of her fecis 
 this, and feels it with a sense of sadness. But they 
 are silent, each inquiring of himself what has become 
 of the bark, and what has been the fate of their ship- 
 mates. 
 
 One alone is heard speaking aloud, giving expression 
 to a thought now common to all. It is the sailor who 
 twice uttered "Mie prediction, which he again repeats, 
 only changing it to the assertion of a certainty. With 
 a group gathered around him, he says, "Shipmates, 
 we'll never see that lieutenant again, nor fhe youn^ 
 reefer, nor the old cocks' n — never I " 
 
38 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 A BRACE OF BRITISH OFFICERS 
 
 SCENE, San Francisco, the capital of California 
 Time, the autumn of 1849, several week3 ante- 
 cedent to the chase described. 
 
 A singular city the San Francisco of 1849, very 
 different from what it is to-day, and equally unlike 
 what it was twelve months before the aforesaid date, 
 when the obscure village of Yerba Buena yielded up 
 its name, along with its site, entering on what may be 
 termed a second genesis. 
 
 The little village, port of the Mission Dolores, built 
 of sun-dried bricks, — its petty commerce in hides and 
 tallow represented b} T two or three small craft annually 
 visiting it, — wakes up one morning to behold whole 
 fleets of ships come crowding through the Golden Gate, 
 and dropping their anchor in front of its wharfless 
 strand. They come from all parts of the Pacific, from 
 all the other oceans, from the ends of the earth, carry- 
 ing every kind of flag known to the nations. The 
 whaleman, late harpooning "fish" in the Arctic, with 
 him who has been chasing "cachalot" in the Pacific 
 and Indian ; the merchantman standing towards Aus- 
 tralia, China, or Japan ; the trader among the South 
 Sea Islands ; the coaster of Mexico, Chili, and Peru ; 
 men-o'- war of every flag and fashion, — frigates, cor- 
 vettes, and double-deckers ; even Chinese junks and 
 Matayar pi alius — are seen sailing into San Franciscc 
 
A STOBY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 39 
 
 Bay, and coming to beside the beach of Ye.ba 
 Bnena. 
 
 What has caused this grand spreading of canvas, 
 and commingling of queer craft ? What is still caus- 
 ing it, for still thej' come? The answer lies in a little 
 word of four letters ; the same that, from the beginning 
 of man's activity on earth, has moved him to many 
 things, too oft to deeds of evil, — gold. Some eighteen 
 months before, the Swiss emigre Sutter, scouring out 
 his mill-race on a tributary of the Sacramento River, 
 observes shining particles among the mud. Taking 
 them up, and holding them in the hollow of his hand, 
 lie feels that the} T are heavy, and sees them to be of 
 golden sheen. And gold they prove, when submitted 
 to the test of the alembic. The son of Helvetia dis- 
 covers the precious metal in grains and nuggets, inter- 
 spersed with the silt of a fluvial deposit. They are 
 not the first found in California, but the first coming 
 under the eyes of Saxon settlers, — men imbued with 
 the energy to collect and carry them to the far-off out- 
 side world. 
 
 Less than two years have elapsed since the digging 
 of Sutter's mill-race. Meantime, the specks that scin- 
 tillated in its ooze have been transported over the 
 ocean, and exhibited in the great cities, in the win- 
 dows of brokers and bullion-merchants. The sight 
 has proved sufficient to thickly people the banks ot the 
 Sacramento, — hitherto sparsely settled, — and cover 
 San Francisco Bay with ships from eveiy quarter of 
 the globe. Not only is the harbor of Yerba Buena 
 crowded with strange craft, but its streets with queer 
 characters, — adventurers of every race and clime, 
 among whom may be heard an exchange of tonguo3, 
 the like never listened to since the abortive attempt at 
 
40 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 building the Tower of Babel. The Mexican mud-wal\uG 
 dwellings disappear, swallowed up and lost amidst ths 
 modern surrounding of canvas tents and weather 
 board houses, that have risen as by magic around 
 them. A like change has taken place in their occu- 
 pancy. No longer the tranquil interiors, — the tertulia, 
 with guests sipping aniseed, curacoa, and Canario, 
 munching sweet cakes and confituras. Instead, the 
 houses inside now ring with boisterous revelry, smell- 
 ing of mint and Monongahela ; and, though the guitar 
 still tinkles, it is almost inaudible amid the louder 
 strains of clarinet, fiddle, and trombone. 
 
 What a change in the traffic of the streets ! No 
 more silent at certain hours, deserted for the siesta; at 
 others, trodden by sandalled monks and shovel -hatted 
 priests, both bold of gaze when passing the dark- 
 eyed damsels in high shell combs and black silk man- 
 tillas, bolder still, saluting the brown-skinned daughter 
 of the aboriginal, wrapped in her blue-gray rebozo; 
 trodden, too, by garrison soldiers in uniforms of 
 French cut and color, by officer glittering in gold lace, 
 by townsman in cloak of broadcloth, the country gen« 
 tleman (haciendado) on horseback, and the herdsmen, 
 or small farmers (rancheros) , in their splendid Califor- 
 nian costume. Some of these are still seen, but pot, as 
 of yore, swaggering and conspicuous. Amid the con- 
 course of new-comers they move timidly, jostled by 
 rough men in red flannel shirts, buckskin, and blanket 
 coats, with pistols in their belts, and knives hanging 
 handy along their hips ; others equally formidable in 
 Guernsey frocks, or wearing the dreadnought jacket of 
 the sailor ; not a few scarcely clothed at all, shrouding 
 their nakedness in such rags as remain after a long 
 journey overland, or a longer voyage by sea. In al 
 
A STOR? OF THE SOUTH SEA. 41 
 
 probability, since its beginning the world never wit 
 nessed so motley an assemblage of men tramping 
 through the streets of a seaport town as those seen in 
 Y( rba Buena, just baptized San Francisco, 1849, A. D., 
 and perhaps never a more varied display- of bunting 
 in one bay. 
 
 In all certainty, harbor never had so large a number 
 of ships with so few men to man them. At least one- 
 half are crewless, and a large proportion of the remain- 
 der nearly so. Many have but their captain and mates, 
 with, it may be, the carpenter and cook. The sailors 
 are ashore, and but few of them intend returning 
 aboard. They have either gone off to the gold-dig- 
 gings, or are going. There has been a general deban- 
 dade among the Jack-tars, leaving many a merry 
 forecastle in forlorn and silent solitude. 
 
 In this respect, there is a striking contrast between 
 file streets of the town and the ships in its harbor. In 
 2he former, an eager throng, pushing, jostling, surging 
 noisily along, with all the impatience of men half mad ; 
 in the latter, tranquillity, inaction, the torpor of lazy 
 life, as if the ships — many of them splendid craft — 
 were but hulks laid up for good, and never again going 
 to sea. Some never did. Yet not all the vessels in 
 San Francisco Bay are crewless. A few still have 
 their complement of hands ; these being mostly men- 
 of war. The strict naval discipline prevents desertion, 
 though it needs strategy to assist. They ride at anchor 
 far out be^yond swimming-distance from the beach, and 
 will not allow shore-boats to approach them. The tar 
 who attempts to take French leave will have a severe 
 swim for it, and . perchance get a shot which will send 
 him to the bottom of the sea. With this menace con- 
 stant^* before his mind, even California's gold does 
 not tempt him to run the gantlet. 
 
42 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 Among the craft keeping up this iron discipline is 
 one that bears the British flag, — a man-of-war, con- 
 spicuous by her handsome hull, and clean, tapering 
 spars. Her sails are stowed snug, lashed neatly along 
 the 3 r ards : in her rigging, not a rope out of place. 
 Down upon her decks, white as holystone can make 
 them, the same regularity is observable. Every rope 
 is coiled, or trimly turned upon its belaying-pm. It 
 could not be otherwise with the frigate " Crusader/ 5 
 commanded by Capt. Bracebridge, a sailor of the old 
 school, who takes a pride in his ship. He still retains 
 his crew, every one of them. There is not a name 
 on the frigate's books but has its representative in a 
 live sailor, who can either be seen upon her decks, or 
 at any moment summoned thither by the whistle of the 
 boatswain. Though, even if left to themselves, but 
 few of them would care to desert. Gold itself cannot 
 lure them to leave a ship where things are so agreea- 
 ble ; for Capt. Bracebridge does all in his power to 
 make matters pleasant, for men as well as officers. 
 He takes care that the former get good grub, and 
 plent}^ of it, including full rations of grog. He per- 
 mits them to have amusements among themselves ; 
 while the officers treat them to tableaux-vivants, cha- 
 rades, and private theatricals. To crown all, a grand 
 ball has been given aboard the ship in anticipation of 
 her departure from the port, an event near at hand. 
 This, in return for an entertainment of like kind, given 
 by some citizens in honor of her officers, at which 
 more than one of the latter made acquaintances they 
 would wish to meet again, two of .hem desiring it 
 with longings of a special kind. In other words, two 
 of the frigate's officers have fallen in love with a brace 
 of shore damsels, with whom they have danced, and 
 lone some flirting. 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 48 
 
 It is the third day after the ball ; and the&e two 
 officers are standing upon the poop-deck, conversing 
 about it. They are apart from their comrades, pur- 
 posely, since their speech is confidential. The} 7 arc; 
 both 3 T oung men, — the elder of them, Crozier, being & 
 year or two over twenty ; while the } T ounger, Cadwal- 
 lader, is almost as much under it. Crozier has passed 
 his term of probationaiy service, and is now a 
 "mate;" while the other is still a u midshipmite." 
 And a type of this last,* just as Marryat would h;we 
 made him, is Willie Cadwallader, — bright face, light- 
 colored hair, curling over cheeks ruddy as the bloom 
 upon a ripe peach. He is Welsh, with those e3 r es of 
 turquoise blue often observed in the descendants of the 
 Cymri, and hair of a hue seen nowhere else, — threads 
 of gold commingled with tissue of silver. 
 
 Quite different is Edward Crozier, who hails from an 
 ancestral hall standing in the shire of Salop. His 
 hair, also curling, is dark brown, his complexion 
 corresponding ; and a pair of mustaches, already well 
 grown, lie like leeches along his lip, the tips turned 
 upward. An aquiline nose and broad jaw-blades de- 
 note resolution, — a character borne out hy the glance 
 of an eye that never shows quailing. He is of medium 
 size, with a figure denoting g.-eat strength, and capable 
 of carrying out an} r resolve his mind may make ; the 
 shoulders square set, breast well bowed out, the arms 
 and limbs in perfect proportion. In point of persona] 
 appearance, he is the superior ; though both are hand- 
 some fellows, each in his own style. And as the 
 styles are different, so are their dispositions, these 
 rather contrasting. Crozier is of a serious, sedate 
 turn, and, though any thing br t morose, rarefy given 
 to mirth. ?rom the face of Cadwallader the Jiiugh le 
 
44 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 scarcely ever absent ; and the dimple on his cheek , to 
 employ a printer's phrase, appears stereotyped. With 
 the young Welshman, a joke might be carried to ex- 
 tremes ; but he would only seek his revanche by a lark 
 of like kind. With him of Salop, practical jesting 
 would be dangerous, and might end in stern resent- 
 ment, parhaps in a duel. Notwithstanding this dif- 
 ference in disposition, the two are fast friends, — a fact 
 perhaps due to the dissimilitude of their naturef. 
 When not separated* by their respective duties, they 
 keep together aboard ship, and together go ashore, 
 and now, for the first time in the lives of both, have 
 commenced making love together. Fortune has favored 
 them in this, that the}' are not in love with the same 
 lady ; still further, that their sweethearts do not dwell 
 apart, but live under one roof, and belong to one fam 
 ily. They are not sisters, for all that ; nor 3-et cousins, 
 though standing in a certain relationship. One is the 
 aunt of the other. Such kinship might augur inequal- 
 ity in their age. There is none, however, or only a 
 very little ; not so much as between the young officers 
 themselves. The aunt is but a 3*ear or so the senior 
 of her niece. And, as fate has willed, the lots of the 
 lovers have been cast in the proper s} T mmetry and pro- 
 portion. Crozier is in love with the former ; Cadwal- 
 lader, with the latter. 
 
 Their sweett.ef.rts are both Spanish, of the purest 
 blood, — the boasted sangre azul. They are respec- 
 tively daughter and grand-daughter of Don Gregorio 
 Montijo, whose house can be seen from the ship, — a 
 mansion of imposing appearance, in the Mexican haci- 
 enda style, standing upon the summit of a hill, at some 
 distance in shore, and southward from the town. WMlj 
 iouversing, the young officers have their eyes upon it. 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 45 
 
 one of the two assisting his vision with a binocular, 
 It is Caclwallader who uses the instrument. 
 
 Holding it to his eye, he sa}'s, "I think I can see 
 them, Ned. At all events, there are two heads on the 
 housetop, just showing over the parapet. I'll take odds 
 it's them, the dear girls. I wonder if the}' see us." 
 
 " Not unless, like yourself, they are provided with 
 telesoopes." 
 
 "By Jove ! I believe they've got them. I see some- 
 thing that glances in the hands of one ; my Inez, I'll 
 warrant." 
 
 " More likely it's my Carmen. Give me the glass. 
 For all those blue eyes }'ou're so proud of, I can sight 
 a sail farther than you." 
 
 '* A sail, yes ; but not a pretty face, Ned. No, no : 
 rou're blind to beaut}', else 3'ou'd never have taken on 
 to that old aunt, leaving the niece to me. Ha, ha, 
 ha!" 
 
 "Old, indeed! She's as young as yours, if not 
 younger. One tress of her bright amber hair is worth 
 a whole head of 3'our sweetheart's black stuff. Look 
 at this!" Crozier draws out a lock of hair, and, un- 
 folding, shakes it tauntingly before the other's eyes 
 In the sun it gleams golden, with a radiance of red ; 
 for it is amber, as he has styled it. 
 
 " Look at this ! " cries Cadwallader, also exhibiting 
 a tress. " You thought nobod}^ but 3-ourself could 
 show love-locks. There's a bit of hair, that, to yours, 
 is as costly silk alongside cheap common cotton." 
 
 Ft r an instant each stands caressing his particular 
 tress; then both burst into laughter, as the;r stow 
 away their separate favors. 
 
 Crozier, in turn taking the binocular, directs it on 
 the house of Don Grego^io ; after a time saying, 
 
46 THE FLAG OP DISTRESS. 
 
 " About one thing } r ou're right, "Will : those heads ar€ 
 the same from which we've got our love-locks. Ay, 
 and they're looking this wa}\ through glasses. They'll 
 be expecting us soon. Well, we'll be with them, plea?** 
 God, before many minutes. Then you'll see how much 
 superior bright amber is to dull black — anywhere in 
 the world, but especially in the light of a Californian 
 sun." 
 
 " Nowhere, under either sun or moon. Give me 
 the girl with the raven hair ! ' ' 
 
 " For me, her with the golden bronze ! " 
 
 " Well, cada uno a su gusto (' every one to his lik- 
 ing ') , as my sweetheart has taught me to say in her soft 
 Andalusian. But now, Ned, talking serious^, do you 
 think the governor will allow us to go ashore ? ' ' 
 
 " He must ; and I know he will." 
 
 " How do you know it? " 
 
 "Bak! ma bohil, as our Irish second would sa}'. 
 You're the son of a poor Welsh squire, — good blood, 
 I admit, — but I chance to be heir to twice ten thou- 
 sand a year, with an uncle in the admiralty. I have 
 asked leave for both of us : so don't be tineas}' about 
 our getting it. Capt. Bracebridge is no snob ; but he 
 knows his own interests, and won't refuse our fair re- 
 quest. See ! There he is, coming this way. Now for 
 his answer, — affirmative, } r ou niay- rely upon it." 
 
 " Gentlemen," sa}'s the captain, approaching, " I 
 give 3 r ou leave to go ashore for the day. The gig will 
 take 3'ou, landing wherever you wish. You are to send 
 the boat back, and give the cockswain orders where and 
 when he's to .await you on your return to the ship 
 Take my advice, and abstain from drink, which might 
 get you into difficulties. As you know, just now San 
 Francisco is full of all sorts of queer characters, a 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 47 
 
 very Pandemonium of a place. For the sake of the 
 service, and the honor of the uniform you wear, steer 
 clear of scrapes, and, above all, giv,e a wide berth to 
 women." 
 
 After thus delivering himself, the captain turns on 
 his heel, and retires, leaving the young officers to their 
 meditations. They do not meditate long. The desired 
 leave has been granted, and the order given for the gig 
 to be got read}". The boat is in the water, her crew 
 swarming over the side, and seating themselves upon 
 the thwarts. The young officers only stay to give a 
 finishing touch to their toilet, preparatory to appearing 
 before eyes of whose critical glances both have more 
 fear than they would from the fire from a broadside of 
 great guns. This arranged, they drop down the man- 
 ropes, and seat themselves in the stern-sheets ; Crozier 
 commanding the men to shove off. Soon the frigate's 
 gig is gliding over the tranquil waters of San Francisco 
 Bay, not in the direction of the landing-wharf, but 
 towards a point on the shore to the south of, and some 
 distance outside, the suburbs of the citv; for the 
 beacon towards which they steer is the house of Doa 
 G-regoiio Montijo. 
 
48 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 A PAIR OF SPANISH SENORITAS. 
 
 DON GREGORIO MONTTJO is a Spaniard, who, 
 some ten years previous to the time of whieh we 
 write, found his way into the republic of Mexico, after- 
 wards moving on to Alta California. Settling b} r San 
 Francisco Bay, he became a stock-farmer, the indus- 
 try in those days chiefly followed by Californians. 
 His grazing-estate gives proof that he has prospered. 
 Its territory extends several miles along the bay, and 
 several leagues backward, its boundary in this direc- 
 tion being the shore of the South Sea itself; while a 
 thousand head of horses, and ten times the number of 
 horned cattle, roam over its rich pastures. His house 
 stands upon the summit of a hill that rises above the 
 bay, — a sort of spur projected from higher ground be- 
 hind, and trending at right angles to the beach, where 
 it declines into a low-lying sand-spit. Across this runs 
 the shore-road, southward from the city to San Jose. 
 cut f iig the ridge midway between the walls of the 
 house and the water's edge, at some three hundred 
 yards' distance from each. 
 
 The dwelling, a massive quadrangular structure, — in 
 that semi-moriscan style of architecture imported into 
 New Spain by the Conqulstadores — is but a single 
 story in height, having a flat, terraced roof, and an 
 Inner court, approached through a grand gate entrance, 
 centrally set in the front facade, with a double- winged 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 49 
 
 door, wide enough to admit the chariot of fjir Charles 
 Grandison. 
 
 Around a Californian country-house there is rarely 
 much in the way of ornamental grounds, even though 
 it be a hacienda of the first class, and when the 
 headquarters of a grazing-estate, still less ; its enclo- 
 sures consisting chiefly of " corrals " for the penning 
 and branding of cattle, usually erected in the rear of 
 the dwelling To this almost universal nakedness, the 
 grounds of Don Gregorio offer some exception. He 
 has added a fence, which, separating them from the 
 high-road, is penetrated by a portalled entrance, with 
 an avenue that leads straight up to the house. This, 
 strewn with snow-white sea-shells, is flanked on each 
 side by a row of manzanita bushes, — a beautiful indi- 
 genous evergreen. Here and there, a clump of Califor- 
 nia ba} T s, and some scattered peach-trees, show an 
 attempt, however slight, at landscape-gardening. 
 
 Taking into account the grandeur of his house, and 
 the broad acres attached to it, one may well sa} T , that, 
 in the New World, Don Gregorio has done well. And 
 in truth so has he, — thriven to fulness. But he came 
 not empty from the Old ; having brought with him 
 sufficient cash to purchase a large tract of land, as 
 also the horses and horned cattle with which to stock 
 it. No need}* adventurer he, but a gentleman by birth, 
 one of Biscay's bluest blood, — hidalgos since the days 
 of the Cid. 
 
 In addition to his ready-mone}', he also brought 
 with him a wife, — Biscaj^an as himself, — and a daugh- 
 ter, who at the time was but a child. His wife has 
 been long ago buried ; a tombstone in the cemetery of 
 the old Dolores Mission commemorating her many 
 virtues. Since, he has had an accession to his con 
 
 5 
 
~>0 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 tracted family circle ; the added member being i 
 grand-daughter, only a year j-ounger than his daugh- 
 ter, but equally well grown, both having reached the 
 ripest age of girlhood. It is not necessary to say 
 tbat these } T oung ladies, thus standing in the ulation- 
 slrp of aunt and niece, are the two with whom Edward 
 Crozier and Willie Cadwallader have respectively fall- 
 en in love. 
 
 While these young officers are on the way to pay 
 them the promised visit, a word may be said about 
 their personal appearance. Though so closely allied, 
 and nearly of an age, in other respects the two girls 
 differ so widely, that one unacquainted with the fact 
 would not suspect the slightest kinship between them. 
 
 The aunt, Dona Carmen, is of pure Biscayan blood, 
 both by her father's and mother's side. From this 
 she derives her blonde complexion, with that color of 
 hair so pleasing to the sight of Edward Crozier, with 
 blue-gray eyes, known as "Irish;" the Basques and 
 Celts being a kindred race. From it, also, she inher- 
 its a cheerful, smiling countenance, with just enough of 
 roguery in the smile to cause a soupgon of coquettish- 
 ness. Her Biscayan origin has endowed her with a 
 figure of fine, full development, withal in perfect femi- 
 nine proportion ; while her mother has transmitted to 
 her, what, in an eminent degree, she herself possessed, 
 — facial beauty. 
 
 In the daughter, its quality has not deteriorated, 
 but perhaps improved ; for the benignant clime of 
 California has. this effect, the soft breezes of the South 
 Sea fanning as fair cheeks as were ever kissed by Tus- 
 can or Levantine wind. It is not necessary to describe 
 Don a Carmen Montijo in detail. A chapter might be 
 ievoted to her many chains, and still not do them jus« 
 
A STOBY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 51 
 
 tice. Enough to say, that they are bej'ond. cavil ; and 
 that there are men in San Francisco who would dare 
 death for her sake, if sure of a smile from her to show 
 approval of the deed ; ay, one who would for as much 
 do murder. And in that same city is one who would 
 do the same for her niece, Iiiez Alvarez ; though she 
 has neither a blonde complexion, blue e}-es, nor amber- 
 colored hair. In all three different; the first being 
 morena, or brunette ; the second, black as jet ; the last 
 as raven's plumes. But she has also beauty, — of the 
 type immortalized by many bards, Byron among the 
 number, when he wrote his rhapsody on the " Girl of 
 Cadiz." 
 
 Inez is herself a girl of Cadiz, of which city her 
 father was a native. The Conde Alvarez, an officer 
 in the Spanish army, serving with his regiment in 
 Biscay, there saw a face that charmed him. It 
 belonged to the daughter of Don Gregorio Montijo,, 
 his eldest and first-born, some eighteen years antece- 
 dent to the birth of Carmen, his last. The count 
 wooed the Biscayan lady, won, and bore her away to 
 his home in Andalusia. Both he and she have gone 
 to their long account, leaving their only child, Inez, 
 inheritress of a handsome estate. From her father, in 
 whose veins ran Moorish blood, she inherits her jet- 
 black eyes, having lashes nearly half an inch in length, 
 and above them, brows shaped like the moon in the 
 middle of her first quarter. Though in figure more 
 slender than her aunt, she is quite Carmen's equal in 
 height ; and in this may yet excel, since she has not 
 yet attained her full stature. The death of her parents 
 accounts for her being in California, whither she has 
 come to be under the protection of the father of her 
 mother. She has been there but a short time ; a d 
 
52 THE FLAG OF DESTKESS. 
 
 although, all the while, " lovers have been sighing 
 around her," she longs to return to her own Andalusia. 
 
 As already said, Don Gregorio's dwelling is flat- 
 roofed, its top, in Spano-Mexican phrase, termed the 
 azotea. This, surrou ided by a parapet breast-high, is 
 beset with plants and flowers in boxes and pots, thus 
 forming a sort of aerial garden, reached by a stone 
 stair, the escalera, which leads up out of the inner 
 court, called patio. During certain hours of the da} T , 
 the azotea is a favorite resort, being a pleasant place 
 of dalliance, as also the finest for observation, com- 
 manding, as it does, a view of the country at back, 
 and the broad bay in front. To look upon the last 
 have the two seTioritas, on this same morning, ascended 
 soon after breakfast, — in all parts of Spanish America 
 partaken at the somewhat late hour of eleven, a.m. 
 
 That they do not intend staying there long is evi- 
 dent from the character of their dresses. Both are 
 costumed and equipped for the saddle, having hats of 
 vicuna wool on their heads, riding-whips in their hands, 
 and spurs on their heels ; while in the courtyard below 
 stand four horses, saddled and bridled, champing their 
 bits, and impatiently striking the pavement with their 
 hoofs. Since all the saddles are such as should be 
 ridden by men, it ma} T be supposed only men are to be 
 mounted, and that the ladies' horses have not } T et been 
 brought out of the stable. This would naturally be 
 the conjecture of a stranger to Spanish California. 
 But one au fait to its fashions would draw his deduc- 
 tions differently. Looking at the spurred damsels 
 upon the housetop, and the saddled horsos below, he 
 would conclude that at least two of the latter were 
 intended to be ridden by the former, in that style of 
 equitation with which tlu. famed Duchosse de Bern 
 
A STORE" OF THE SOUTH SEA. 53 
 
 was accustomed to astonish the people of Paris The 
 other two horses, having larger and somewhat coirsei 
 saddles, are evidently designed for gentlemen ; so 
 that the cavalcade will be symmetrically composed, — 
 two and two of each sex. The gentlemen have not 
 3'et put in an appearance ; but who they are may be 
 learned by listening to the dialogue passing between the 
 two senoritas. From their elevated position they can 
 see the rapidly growing city of San Francisco, and the 
 shipping in its harbor. This is north-east, and a little 
 to their left. But there are several vessels riding at 
 anchor just out in front of them ; one, a war-ship, 
 towards which the eyes of both keep continuously 
 turning, as though in expectation to see a boat put off 
 from her side. As } T et, none such has been seen ; and, 
 withdrawing her gaze from the war-ship, Inez opens 
 the conversation by asking her aunt a question, " Is 
 it really true that we're going back to Spain? " 
 
 " Quite true ; and I'm sorry for it." 
 
 " Why should you be sorry? " 
 
 " Why ! There are many reasons." 
 
 " Give one," challenges the niece. 
 
 " I could give twenty." 
 
 " One will be sufficient, if good." 
 
 " They're all good," gravely rejoins the aunt. 
 
 " Let me hear them, then." 
 
 " First of all, I like California : I love it, — its fine 
 climate, and bright blue skies." 
 
 " Not a bit brighter or bluer than those of Spain." 
 
 " Ten times brighter, anc\ ten times bluer. The 
 skies of the Old World are to those of the New as lead 
 to lapis lazuli. In that respect, neither Spain nor Italy 
 can compare with California. Its seas, too, are supe- 
 rior. Even the boasted Bay of Naples would 1 e but -i 
 
54 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 little lake alongside thi3 noble sheet of water, fai 
 stretching before our e} T es. Look at it ! " 
 
 " Looking at it through your eyes, I might think so ; 
 not through mine. For my part, I see nothing in it to 
 be so much admired/ ' 
 
 k ' But something on it ; for instance, that grand ship 
 out yonder. Come, now, confess the truth. Isn't 
 that something to admire?" 
 
 " But that does not belong to the bay," replies the 
 Andalusian. 
 
 " No matter: it's on it now, and in it (the ship, I 
 mean) , somebocty who, if I mistake not, has very much 
 interested somebody else, — a certain Andalusian dam- 
 sel, by name Inez Alvarez." 
 
 " Your words will answer as well for a Biscayan 
 damsel, b} T name Carmen Montijo." 
 
 "Suppose I admit it, and say yes? Well, I will. 
 There is one in yonder ship who has very much inter- 
 terested me. Nay, more : I admire, ay, love him. 
 You see I'm not ashamed to confess what the world 
 seems to consider a woman's weakness. We Biscayans 
 don't keep secrets as you Andalusians. For all, sobri- 
 71a, you haven't kept yours, though 3-011 tried hard 
 enough. I saw from the first 3-ou were smitten with 
 that 3'oung English officer who has hair the exact color 
 of a fox-squirrel." 
 
 " It isn't any thing of the kind. His hair is a thou- 
 sand times of a prettier hue than that of the other 
 English officer, who's taken 3^our fanc3 T , tia." 
 
 1 ' Nothing to compare with it. Look at this ! There's 
 a curl, one of the handsomest that ever grew on the 
 head of man, — dark and glossy, like the coat of a fur* 
 seal ; beautiful ! I could kiss it over ? nd over again." 
 
 Whi.e speaking, she does so. 
 
A. STOBY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 55 
 
 " And look at this! " cries the other, also drawing 
 forth a lock of hair, and displaying it in the sunlight. 
 " See how it shines, like tissue of gold ! Far prettier 
 tnan that you've got, and better worth kissing." 
 
 Saying which, she imitates the example her aunt has 
 set her, by raising the tress to her lips, and repeatedly 
 kissing it. 
 
 " So, so, nry innocent ! " exclaims Carmen, " you've 
 been stealing too?" 
 
 "As yourself." 
 
 "And I suppose }*ou've given him a love-lock in 
 exchanger " 
 
 "Have you?" 
 
 " I have. To you, Iiiez, I make no secret of it. 
 Come, now. Be equally candid with me. Have you 
 done so? " 
 
 " I've done the same as j'ourself." 
 
 " And has your heart gone with the gift? Tell the 
 truth, sobrina." 
 
 " Ask your own, tia, and take its answer for mine." 
 
 " Enough then. We understand each other, and 
 shall keep the secret to ourselves. Now, let's talk of 
 other things : go back to what we began with, about 
 leaving California. You're glad we're going? " 
 
 " Indeed, yes ! And I wonder you're not the same. 
 Dear old Spain ! the finest country on earth, and 
 Cadiz the finest city." 
 
 " Well, cada uno a su gusto (' every one to his 
 liking '). But about that we two differ. Give me Cali- 
 fornia for a countiy, and San Francisco for a home, 
 though it's not much of a city yet. It will be, ere 
 long ; and I should like to stay in it. But that's not to 
 ^c, and there's an end of it. Father has determined 
 on leaving. Indeed, he has already sold out; so that 
 
56 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 this house and the lands around it are no longer ours, 
 As the lawyers have made out the deed of transfer, 
 and the money has been paid down, we're only here or 
 sufferance, and must soon yield possession. Then 
 we're to take ship for Panama, go across the Isthmus, 
 and over the Atlantic Ocean, once more to renew the 
 Old- World life, with all its stupid ceremonies. Oh ! 
 I shall sadly miss the free, wild ways of California, its 
 rural sports, with their quaint originality and pictur- 
 esqueness. I'm sure I shall die of ennui soon after 
 reaching Spain. Your Cadiz will kill me." 
 
 " But, Carmen, surely }~ou can't be happy here, now 
 that every thing is so changed ? Wiry, we can scarcely 
 walk out in safet} T , or take a promenade through the 
 streets of the town, crowded with those rude fellows 
 in red shirts, who've come to search for gold, — Anglo- 
 Saxons, as the}' call themselves." 
 
 " What ! You speaking against Anglo-Saxons, and 
 with that tress treasured in your bosom, so close to 
 your heart." 
 
 " Oh! he is different. He's not Saxon, but Celtic, 
 the same as you Bisca}-ans. Besides, he isn't to be 
 ranked with that rabble, even though he weic of the 
 same race. The Seilor Cadwallader is a born hidalgo.'* 
 
 " Admitting him to be, I think you do wrong to 
 these red-shirted gentiy, in calling them a rabble. 
 Rough as is their exterior, the}' have gentle hearts 
 under their coarse homespun coats. Many of them 
 are true bred and born gentlemen, and, what's better, 
 behave as such. I've never received insult from them, 
 not even disrespect, though I've been beside then) 
 scores of times. Father wrongs them too ; for it U 
 partly their presence here that's causing him to leave 
 California, as so, also, many others of our old famili' s 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 57 
 
 SU11, as we reside in the countiT, at a safe listance 
 from town, we might enjoy immunity from meeting loa 
 barbaros, as our people are pleased contemptuously to 
 style them. For my part, I love dear old California, and 
 shall greatly regret leaving it. Only to think ! I shall 
 never more behold the gallant vaquero, mounted on his 
 magnificent steed, careering across the plain, and 
 launching his lazo over the horns of a fierce wild bull, 
 ready to gore him if he but miss his aim. Ah! it's 
 one of the finest sights in the world, so exciting in this 
 dull, prosaic age ! It recalls the heroic days and deeds 
 of the great Conde, the Campeador, and Cid. Yes, 
 Iiiez, only in this modern Transatlantic land, out here, 
 on the shores of the South Sea, do there still exist 
 customs and manners to remind one of the old knight- 
 errantry, and times of the troubadours. ,, 
 
 44 What an enthusiast 3'ou are ! but, apropos of your 
 knights-errant, yonder are two of them, if I mistake 
 not, making this way. Now, fancy yourself on the 
 donjon of an ancient Moorish castle, salute, and receive 
 them accordingly. Ha, ha, ha ! " 
 
 The clear, ringing laugh of the Anclalusian is not 
 echoed by the Biscayan. Instead, a shadow steals 
 over her face, as her eyes become fixed upon two fig- 
 ures distinguishable as men on horseback. 
 
 1 ' True t3'pes of your Californian chivalry ! ' ' adds 
 Inez ironically. 
 
 44 True types of Californian villany ! rejoins Csrniea, 
 in earnest. 
 
58 THE FLAG OF DISTBESii. 
 
 CHAPTER VTI. 
 
 A COUPLE OF CALIFORNIAN 
 
 THE true types of Calif ornian chivalry, or villany, 
 have just emerged from the suburbs of San Fran- 
 cisco, taking the road which leads southward along 
 shore. 
 
 Both are garbed in grand st^ie, — in the national 
 costume of California, which, in point of picturesque- 
 ness, is not exceeded by any other in the world. 
 
 They wear the wide trousers (calzoneras) , along the 
 outer seams lashed with gold-lace, and beset with fili- 
 gree buttons, the snow-white drawers (calzoncillas) 
 here and there puffing out ; below, botas and spurs, 
 the last with rowels several inches in diameter, that 
 glitter like great stars behind their heels. They have 
 tight-fitting jackets of velveteen, closed in front, and 
 over the bosom elaborately embroidered ; scarfs of 
 China crape round their waists, the ends dangling 
 adown the left hip, terminating in a fringe of gold 
 cord ; on their heads sombreros with broad brim, and 
 band of bullion, the toquilla. In addition, each car- 
 ries over his shoulders a manga, — the most magnificent 
 of outside garments, with a drape graceful as a Roman 
 toga. That of one is scarlet-colored, the other sky- 
 blue. Their horses are not less grandly bedecked, — 
 saddles of stamped leather, scintillating with silver 
 studs, their cloths elaborately embroidered ; bridles 
 of plaited horse -flair, pointed with tags and tassels: 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 59 
 
 bits of the Mameluke pattern, with check-pieces and 
 curbs powerful enough to break the jaw at a jerk. 
 
 The steeds thus splendidly caparisoned are wcrtlrv 
 of it. Though small, the}' are of perfect shape, — pure 
 blood of Arabian sires, transmitted through dams of 
 Andalusia. They are descended from the stock trans- 
 ported to the New World by the Conquistadores ; and 
 the progenitor of one or other may have carried Alva- 
 rado, or Sandoval, perhaps Cortez himself. 
 
 The riders are both men of swartlry complexion, 
 with traits that tell of the Latinic race. Their features 
 are Spanish, in one a little more pronounced than in the 
 other. He who wears the sky-colored cloak has all the 
 appearance of being Mexican born. The blood in his 
 veins, giving the brown tinge to his skin, is not Moor- 
 ish, but more likely from the aborigines of California. 
 For all that, he is not a mestizo, only one among 
 whose remote ancestry an Indian woman may have 
 played part ; since the family-tree of man}- a proud 
 Californian has sprung from such root. He is a man 
 of medium size, with figure squat and somewhat spare, 
 and sits his horse as though he were part of the ani- 
 mal. If seen afoot, his legs would appear bowed, 
 almost bandied, showing that he has spent the greater 
 part of his life in the saddle. His face is flat, its out- 
 line rounded, the nose compressed, nostrils agape, and 
 lips thick enough to suggest the idea of an African 
 origin. But his hair contradicts this, being straight 
 as needles, and black as the skin of a Colobus monkey. 
 More likely he has it from the Malays, through the 
 Californian Indian, some tribes of which are undoubt- 
 edly of Malayan descent. Whatever the mixture in 
 his blood, the man is himself a nat're Californian, 
 born by the side of San Francisco Ba}- >n a ganaderia* 
 
60 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 or graziug-estate. He is some twenty six or seven 
 years of age, his name Faustino Calderon, — " Don " 
 by ancestral right, and ownership of the aforesaid 
 ganaderia. 
 
 He in the scarlet manga, though but two or three 
 years older, is altogether different in appearance, as 
 otherwise ; personalty handsomer, and intellectually 
 superior. His features, better formed, are more purely 
 Spanish, their outline oval and regular. The jaws broad 
 and balanced ; the chin prominent ; the nose high, 
 without being hooked or beaked ; the brow classical^ 
 cut, and surmounted by a thick shock of hair, coal- 
 black in color, and waved, rather than curling ; heavy 
 mustaches on the upper lip, with an imperial on the 
 nnder one, the last extending below the point of the 
 chin, all the rest of his face, throat, and cheeks, clean 
 shaven, — such are the facial characteristics of Don 
 Francisco de Lara, who is a much larger, and, to all 
 appearance, stronger man, than his travelling-compan- 
 ion. 
 
 Calderon, as said, is a gentleman by birth, and a 
 ganadero, or stock-farmer, b}- occupation. He inherits 
 extensive pasture-lands left him by his father, — some 
 time deceased, — along with the horses and horned 
 cattle that browse upon them. An only son, he is now 
 ownei of all ; but his ownership is not likely to con- 
 tinue. He is fast relinquishing it by the pursuit of 
 evil courses, among them three of a special kind, — 
 wine, women, and pla} T , — which promise to make him 
 bankrupt in purse, as they have in character. For 
 around San Francisco, as in it, he is known as a roue 
 and reveller, a debauchee in every form, and a silly 
 fellow to boot. Naturally of weak intellect, indulgence 
 in dissipation has rendered it weaker 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 61 
 
 Of as much moral darkness, though different ia kind, 
 is the character of Don Francisco de Lara, — " Frank 
 Lara," as he is familiarly known in the streets and 
 saloons. Though Spanish in features, and speaking 
 the language, he can also talk English with perfect 
 fluency, French too when called upon, with a little 
 Portuguese and Italian ; for, in truth, he is not a Span- 
 iard, though of Spanish descent, — a Creole of New 
 Orleans : hence his philological acquirements. He is one 
 of those children of chance, wanderers who come into 
 the world nobody knows how, when, or whence ; only 
 that they are in it ; and, while there, performing a part 
 in accordance with their mysterious origin, — living in 
 luxury, and finding the means for it by ways that 
 baffle conjecture. 
 
 Frank Lara is fully thirty years of age, the last ten 
 of which he has spent on the shores of San Francisco 
 Bay. Landing there from an American whaling-vessel, 
 and in sailor-costume, he cast off his tarry "togs," 
 and took to land-life in California. Its easy idleness, 
 as its lawlessness, exactly suited his natural inclina- 
 tions, and, above all, his penchant for gamiDg. He 
 soon became a noted character in the cockpit, as at the 
 card-table, making monej- by both, — enough to keep 
 him without the necessity of asking favors from any 
 one. 
 
 Similar inclinings and pursuits at an early period 
 brought him and Calderon in contact ; and relations 
 have been formed between them now firmly fixed. Of 
 late more than ever ; for since the breaking-out of the 
 gold-fever, with its consequent Anglo-Saxon invasion, 
 the}' have become united in a business partnership, — in 
 a bank; not one of the ordinary kind, for discount 
 and deposit, with desks and counters for the transaction 
 6 
 
62 THE FLAG OF D1STKESS. 
 
 of affairs, but suJh as may be seen in an}' Calif ornian 
 town, — a drinking-saloon, containing tables covered 
 with green cloth, and rows of chairs or benches around 
 them : in short, the species known asa" monte bank." 
 
 Since the discovery of the gold placers, the streets 
 of San Francisco have become crowded with men mad 
 after the precious metal, among them some who dc 
 aot desire to undergo the toil ef sifting it out of sand, 
 washing it from river-mud, nor yet crushing it clear of 
 quartz-rock. They prefer the easier and cleaner method 
 of gathering it across the green baize of a gambling- 
 table. 
 
 To accommodate such gentry, Don Francisco de Lara 
 has established a monte bank, Don Faustino Calderon 
 being his backer. But though the latter is the mon- 
 eyed man, and has supplied most of the cash to start 
 with, he does not show in the transaction. He has still 
 some lingering ideas of respectabilit}*, and does not 
 desire to appear as a professional gambler. He acts, 
 therefore, as the sleeping partner ; while De Lara, with 
 less reputation at stake, is the active and ostensible 
 one. 
 
 Such are the two men, splendidly attired, and mag- 
 nificently mounted, who have issued from the new- 
 named town of San Francisco, and are riding along 
 the shore of its ba}^. As the}' canter gently through 
 the suburbs, they are seen by several, who know and 
 recognize them. Man}' admire their grand style and 
 picturesque habiliments, and notably the gold-diggers, 
 and other late-comers to California, who have never 
 before seen citizens in such shining array. Farther on, 
 the gamesters encounter but few people, and fewer still 
 who know them. For they are now straying beyond 
 the range of red-shirts, and meet onl the natives of 
 
A STOKY.OF THE SOUTH SEA. 63 
 
 ftie country, rancheros riding trwnward. Of smb. as 
 do recognize them, the greater number can tell where 
 they are going. They would say that Calderon io on 
 his way to the hacienda of Don Gregorio Montijo, and 
 could guess his errand. About that of De Lara, they 
 might not be so sure, though they would suppose him 
 going there too. 
 
 Strange all this to one unacquainted with California 
 and its ways, especially one acquainted with the char- 
 acter of the two individuals in question. He would 
 naturally ask, Could men so tainted be on visiting- 
 terms with the family of a gentleman among the first 
 in California, ranking with its grandest ricos, and fa- 
 milias principales? By one knowing the country and 
 its customs in the olden time, the answer would not 
 be a negative ; for there and then every second man 
 met with was a gambler, either professionally or in 
 practice, and not a few women as well. He who did 
 Bot occasionally cast dice, or stake doubloons upon the 
 turning of a card, was a vara avis. The keeper of a 
 monte bank might not be deemed so respectable as a 
 banker of the ordinary kind : not only was he not 
 socially outlawed, but, if rich, " society " rather ca- 
 ressed him. 
 
 As yet, Don Faustino Calderon has not come under 
 the category of the professional " sport ; " and respec 
 tability does not repel him. His dissipated habits are 
 far from exceptional ; and his father's good name still 
 continues to throw its cegis over him. Under it he is 
 eligible to Californian society of the most select kind, 
 and has the entree of its best circles. 
 
 And so, also, Don Francisco de Lara — in a different 
 Way. Wealth has secured him this ; fo*. although any 
 thing but rich, he has the repute of be ing so, and bears 
 
64 THU FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 evidence of it about him. He is always stylishly and 
 fashionably attired ; his shirt of the finest linen, with 
 diamond studs sparkling m its front. Free in dispens- 
 ing gratuities, he gives to the poor and the priests ; 
 the last kind of largess being a speculation. He in- 
 tends it as such, and it has well repaid the outla} r ; 
 for in California, as in other Catholic countries, the 
 dispenser of " Peter's Pence " is sure of being highly 
 esteemed. Frank Lara has done this with a libera, 
 hand, and is therefore st} r led Don Francisco de Lara, 
 sainted as such by the sandalled monks and shovel 
 hatted priests who come in contact with him. In 
 addition to all, he is good looking, and of graceful de- 
 portment, without being at all a dandy. On the con 
 trary, he carries himself with earnest air, calm ana 
 cool, while in his eye may be read the expression, noli 
 me tangere. A native of New Orleans, where duels 
 occur almost daily, he is up in the art d'escrime. Since 
 his arrival in California, he has twice called out hia 
 man, on the second occasion killing him. 
 
 Escroc as the French might call him, " blackleg " in 
 the English vocabulary, " sport" in American phrase, 
 Frank Lara is a man with whom no one who knows 
 him would like to take liberties. 
 
 In the companionship of Calderon, — under his wing, 
 as it were, — he has been admitted into the best houses, 
 and, along with the latter, is now on the way to visit 
 that of Don Gregorio Montijo. That their visit is of 
 unique character, and for an important purpose, can be 
 gleaned from the speech passing between them as they 
 ride along the road. 
 
 " "Well, Calderon," says De Lara, " from something 
 you said before settirg out, I take it j^ou' re going to 
 Don Gregorio' s on business very similar tc my own. 
 Come, comrade ! declare your errand." 
 
A &TORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 65 
 
 " Declare yours ." 
 
 tt Certainly. I shall make nc secret of it to you; 
 nor need I. "Why should there be any between us? 
 We've now known one another long and intimately 
 enough to exchange confidences of even the closest 
 kind. To-day mine is, that I mean proposing to Don 
 Gregorio' s daughter. ' ' 
 
 " And I," returns Calderon, " intend doing the same 
 to his grand-daughter. 
 
 " In that case, we're both in the same boat. Well, 
 as there's no rivalry between us, we can pull pleasant- 
 ly together. I've no objection to being your uncle, 
 even admitting }T>u to a share in the Spaniard's prop- 
 erty proportioned to your claims of kinship." 
 
 "I don't want a dollar of the old don's money; 
 onl} T his grand-daughter. I'm deeply in love with her. 
 
 "And I," continues De Lara, "am just as deeply 
 in love with his daughter : it may be deeper." 
 
 "You couldn't. I'm half mad about Inez Alvarez. 
 I could kill her — if she refuse me." 
 
 " I shall kill Carmen Montijo — if she refuse me." 
 
 The two men are talking seriously, or seem so. 
 Their voices, the tone, the flashing of their eyes, the 
 expression upon their faces, with their excited gesticu- 
 lation, all show them to be in earnest. At the last 
 outburst of passionate speech, they turn round in their 
 saddles, and look each other in the face. 
 
 De Lara continues the dialogue: "Now, tell me, 
 Faustino, what hope have you of success? " 
 
 "For that, fair enrugh. You rememb(*r the last 
 fandango held at Don Gregorio' s, — on the day of the 
 cattle-branding ? ' ' 
 
 " Certainly I do. £'vc good reason to remember it 
 But go on." 
 
 6* 
 
66 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 "Well, that night," proceeds Calderon, "I danced 
 twice with Doiia Inez, and made many sweet speeches 
 to her. Once I went farther, and squeezed her pretty 
 hand. She wasn't angry, or, at all events, didn't say 
 or show it. Surely after such encouragement, I may 
 ask that hand in marriage with fair presumption of 
 not being refrsecl. What's }T>ur opinion? " 
 
 " Your chances seem good. But what about Don 
 Gregorio himself? He will have something to say in 
 the matter." 
 
 " Too much, I fear ; and that's just what I do fear. 
 So long as his bit of grazing-land was worth only 
 some thirty thousand dollars, he was amiable enough. 
 Now that, by this gold discovery, it's got to be good 
 value for ten times the amount, he'll be a different 
 man, and, likely enough, will go dead against me." 
 
 "Likely enough. It's the way of the world; and 
 therefore, on that account, j-ou needn't have a special 
 spite against the Senor Montijo. You're sure no one 
 else stands between }'ou and yo\ir sweetheart? Or is 
 there something in the shape of a rival? " 
 
 "■ Of course there is, — a score of them, as }'ou ought 
 to know ; same as with j T ourself, De Lara. Suitors 
 have been coming and going with both, I suppose, 
 ever since either was old enough to receive them. The 
 last I've heard of as paying attentions to Inez is a 
 young naval officer, a midshipman on board a British 
 man-of-war now lying in the harbor. Indeed, there 
 are two of them spoken of ; one said to be your rival, 
 as the other is mine. Shall I tell you what's been foi 
 some time the talk of the town? You may as well 
 know it, if you don't alread3 r ." 
 
 " What? " asks the Creole excitedly. 
 
 ' t Why, that the one represented as your competitor 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 67 
 
 has cut out all Carmen's other admirers, yourself 
 among the rest." 
 
 Bitter words to the ear of Francisco de Li*ra, bring- 
 ing the red color to his cheeks, as if they had been 
 smitten by a switch. With eyes flashing, and full of 
 jealous fire, he exclaims, " If that be so, I'll do as 
 I've said." 
 
 "Do what?" 
 
 " Kill Carmen Montijo. I swear it. I'm in ear- 
 nest, Calderon, and mean it. If it be as you've heard, 
 I'll surely kill her. I've the right to her life by her 
 giving me the right to her love." 
 
 " But did she do that? Has she confessed to loving 
 you?" 
 
 " Not in words, I admit. But there are other signs 
 of assent strong as speech, or the hand-squeezings 
 you speak of. Carmen Montijo may be cunning. 
 Some call her a coquette. All I know is, that she has 
 led me to believe she loved me ; and, if she's been 
 playing a false game, she shall rue it;, one way or the 
 other. This day I'm determined to ascertain the truth, 
 by offering her my hand in marriage. If she refuse it, 
 then I'll know how things stand, and take steps for 
 squaring accounts between us. She shall find that 
 Frank Lara is not the sort of man to let one of woman- 
 kind either laugh at, or pla} T tricks with him." 
 
 "I admire your spirit, amigo. I catch courage from 
 it, and will imitate your action. If it turn out that 
 Inez has been trifling with me, I'll — Well, we must 
 first find what answer there is for us, which we shall, 
 I suppose, soon after ascending yonder hill. One of 
 us may be accepted, the other rejected. In that case, 
 one will hi happy, th3 other wretched. Or both may 
 be accepted, and then we'll both be blessed. Taking 
 
68 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 things at their worst, — and that we both get refused,— 
 what then? Despair and a speedy end, I suppose? " 
 
 " The last if you like, but not the first. When de- 
 spair comes to Frank Lara, death will come along with 
 it, or soon after. But we waste time talking Let us 
 forward, and learn our fate ! " 
 
 With stroke of spur, urging their horses into a 
 gallop, the two caballeros keep on ; in the countenances 
 of both a cast showing them half hopeful, half doubting, 
 such as may be seen when men are about to make 
 (Some desperate attempt, with uncertainty as to the 
 result. On Calderon's, notwithstanding his assumed 
 evit}', the expression is almost of despair : on that of 
 De Lara, it is more of a demon. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 AN ENCOUNTER INEVITABLE. 
 
 AFTER having delivered their speeches, so nearly 
 alike in sound, 3-et so different in sense, the two 
 ladies on the housetop stand for a short time s ^ent, 
 their eyes turned toward the approaching horsemen. 
 These are still more than a mile off, and, to the ordina- 
 ry eye, only distinguishable as mounted men wearing 
 cloaks, — one of scarlet color, the other slsy-blue. But, 
 despite the distance, the young girls easily identify 
 them, both simultaneously, and in tones somewhat con- 
 temptuous, pronouncing their names. 
 
 " Yes," says Carmen, speaking in full assurance, 
 with a lorgnette raised to her eyes, hitherto bent upon 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 69 
 
 the British war-ship. "No truer tj-pes of what I've 
 called them than Francisco de Lara and Faustino Cal- 
 deron." 
 
 The frown that came over her face at first sight of 
 them remains upon it as she continues regarding them 
 through the glass. After an interval, she adds inter- 
 rogatively, and with a certain uneasiness of manner, 
 " Think you they're coming to the house, Inez? " 
 
 " That is very likely ; I should say, almost certain.' ' 
 
 " What can be bringing them ? " mechanically queries 
 Carmen, with an air of increased vexation. 
 
 " Their horses, aunt," rejoins the niece jestingly. 
 
 " Don't jest, Inez. It's too serious." 
 
 " What's too serious? " 
 
 " Why, these fellows coming hither. 1 wonder what 
 they can be wanting." 
 
 "You needn't wonder at that," says Inez, still speak- 
 ing jocularly. "I can tell 3-ou what one of them wants, 
 and that's Don Francisco de Lara. He is desirous to 
 have a look at the mistress of this mansion." 
 
 ' ' And Don Faustino Calderon is no doubt equally 
 desirous to have a look at her niece," retorts the aunt 
 in like bantering tone. 
 
 " He's quite welcome. He may look at me till he 
 strain his ugly eyes out. It won't make any impres- 
 sion." 
 
 "I'm sorry I can't sa} the same for Don Francisco. 
 On me his looks do make an impression, — one far from 
 being either pleasant or favorable." 
 
 " It wasn't always so, tia?" 
 
 " No, I admit. I only wish it had boen." 
 
 "But why?" 
 
 »• Because now I shoul In't need to be afraid of 
 him. 
 
70 THE FLAG OP DISTRESS. 
 
 " Afraid of him ! Surely 3 r ou're not that r " 
 
 " Well, no — not exactly — still ' ' — 
 
 She speaks hesitating^, and in disjointec phrases, 
 her head hung down, with a red spot upon her cheeks, 
 as though she had some reason for reticence, — a secret 
 she scarce likes to disclose. Then a quick change 
 comes over her countenance ; and, bending closer to the 
 other, she asks, " Can I trust 3'ou with a confidence, 
 Inez?" 
 
 " Why need you ask that? You've already trusted 
 me with one in telling me you love Don Eduardo 
 Crozier." 
 
 " Now I give you another: I once loved Don Fran- 
 cisco de Lara." 
 
 "Indeed?" 
 
 " No, no ! " rejoins Carmen quickly, and as if half 
 repenting the avowal. "Not loved him: that's not 
 true. I onty came near it." 
 
 "And now?" 
 
 " I hate him." 
 
 " Wiry, may I ask? What has changed }'OU? " 
 
 " That's easily answered. Listen, Ifiez, and you 
 shall have the explanation. When I first met him, I 
 was much jxmnger than now, — a mere girl, full of 
 girlish fancies, romantic, as called. They may not 
 be gone yet, — not all. But whatever of them remains 
 no longer turns towards Francisco de Lara. I thought 
 him handsome ; and, in a sense, so is he. In person, 
 you'll admit, he's all man may or need be, — a sort 
 of Apollo or Hyperion. But in mind — ah, Inez, 
 that man is a very satyr, in heart and soul a Mephis- 
 topheles. I only discovered it when I became better 
 acquainted with him. Then I hated Vim, and do sc 
 
 Btill." 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 71 
 
 44 But why should you be af ."aid of him? " 
 
 Carmen does not reply promptly. Clearly she has 
 cot yet given the whole of her confidence : there ia 
 something withheld. 
 
 Inez, whose sympathies are now enlisted, — seeing 
 that her aunt has some secret cause for suffering, — 
 presses for the explanation. She does so entreatingly, 
 in the language of sisterly affection. 
 
 " Carmen, dear Carmen ! tell me what it is. Have 
 you ever given Don Francisco a claim to call you his 
 novia? " 
 
 " Never! Neither that, nor any thing of the kind. 
 He has no claim, and I no compromise. The only 
 thing I've reason to regret is having listened to cer- 
 tain flattering speeches without resenting them." 
 
 "Pst! What does that signify ? Wiry, Don Faus- 
 tino has made flattering speeches to me (scores of 
 them), called me all sorts of endearing names; does 
 so whenever we two are together alone. I only laugh 
 at him." 
 
 " Ah ! Faustino Calderon is not Francisco de Lara. 
 They are men of very different characters. In the 
 behavior of 3'our admirer, there's only a little of the 
 ludicrous : in that of mine, there ma}' be a great deal 
 of danger. But let us cease discussing them. There's 
 no time for that now. The question is, Are the}- com- 
 ing on to the house? " 
 
 " I think there can be no question about it. Like 
 enough thej T, ve heard that we're soon going awa}-, and 
 are about to honor us with a farewell visit." 
 
 " Would it were on3y that ! But, visit of whatever 
 kind, 'tis extremely ill timed, and may be awkward." 
 
 44 How so?" 
 
 4< Supposing they should stay till our English friends 
 
72 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 arrive? You know 'tis near the hour they were invited 
 to ride out with us. Twelve, father told them, he says. 
 It's now half-past eleven ; and, if the four should meet 
 here, wouldn't we be in a dilemma? It's very vexa= 
 tious — the coining of these two cavaliers." 
 
 " Let them come, who cares? I don't." 
 
 "But I do. If papa were at home, I mightn't so 
 much mind it. But, just now, I've no desire to see 
 De Lara alone, and still less while being visited by 
 Don Eduardo. They're both demonios, though in a 
 very different wa}' ; and, sure as fate, there' d be trouble, 
 perhaps a fight between them. That wouldn't be at 
 all pleasant. But let us hope our friends from the 
 ship won't get here till our shore friends, or enemies 
 I should rather style them, have done their devofrs, 
 az:d gone away." 
 
 " But our ship-friends will be here before that. I 
 declare they're on the way now. Look yonder." 
 
 Iiiez points over the ba}-, in the direction *of the 
 British frigate, where a boat is in the water under the 
 ship's beam. The sun, reflected from dripping oar- 
 blades, shows that they are in motion. And, while the 
 girls continue gazing, the boat is seen to separate 
 from the ship's side, and put shoreward, straight 
 towards the sand-spit which shoots out in front of 
 Don Gregorio's dwelling. The rowers are all dressed 
 alike ; the measured stroke of their oars betokening 
 that the boat belongs to the man-o'-war. But the 
 young ladies do not conjecture about that ; nor have 
 they any doubt as to the identity of two of the figures 
 seated in the stern-sheets. Those uniforms of dark 
 blue, with the gold buttons, and yellow cap-bands, are 
 too well known not to be recognizable at any distance 
 to which love's glances could possibly penetrate. Thej? 
 
A STORY OF THE SOCJTH SEA. 73 
 
 are the guests expected, for whom the spare horses 
 stand saddled in tie patio. For Don Gregorio, net 
 displeased with certain delicate attentions which the 
 young British officers have been paying to the female 
 members of his famil}', has invited them to visit him, 
 ride out along with the ladies, and, on return, stay to 
 dinner. He knows that a treat of this kind will be 
 pleasing to those he has asked, and, before leaving 
 home, has given orders for the steeds to be saddled. 
 
 It is not the first time Crozier and Cadwallader have 
 been to the Spaniard's house, nor the first to stretch 
 their limbs under his dining- table. But it may be the 
 last, at least while that table is spread in his present 
 abode ; for in truth it is to be a farewell visit. But 
 along with this understanding another has been entered 
 into. The acquaintance commenced in California is to 
 be renewed at Cadiz, when "The Crusader " goes thith- 
 er, which she is ere long expected to do. But for such 
 expectation, Carmen Montijo and Inez Alvarez would 
 not be so high hearted at the prospect of a leave-taking 
 so near. Less painful on this account, it might have 
 been even pleasant, but for what they see on the oppo- 
 site side, — the horsemen coming from the town. An 
 encounter between the two pairs gives promise to mar 
 the happj* intercourse of the afternoon. 
 
 "They'll meet, they must ! " says Carmen, speak- 
 ing apprehensively. 
 
 " Let them," rejoins Inez in a tone of nonchalance. 
 « What if they do?" 
 
 "What ! They may quarrel. I'm almost sure they 
 will." 
 
 " No fear for that ; and, if they should, where' s the 
 danger? You, such a believer in the romantic, stickler 
 for old knight-errantry, instead of regretting it, should 
 
74 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 he glad. Look there ! Loveu coming from all sUles, 
 — suitois by land, and suitors by sea ! No lady of the 
 troubadour times ever saw the like : none was ever 
 honored bj T such a rivalry. Come, Carmen, be proud ! 
 Stand firm on your castle-keep. Show j-ourself wor- 
 thy to receive this splendid adoration." 
 
 " Inez, you don't know the danger." 
 
 " There is none. If the} r should come into collision, 
 and have a fight, let them. I've no fear for mine. If 
 Willie Cadwallader isn't a match for Faustino Calderon, 
 then he's not match or mate for me — never shall be." 
 
 " Sobrina, you astonish me! I had no idea you 
 were such a demonio. The Moorish blood, I suppose. 
 Your words make me almost as wicked as yourself. 
 It isn't for that I'm afraid. I've as much confidence 
 in my lover as j t ou in yours. No fear that Senor 
 Crozier will cower before Francisco de Lara. If he 
 do, I shall take back my heart a second time, and 
 carry it unscathed to Cadiz." 
 
 Meanwhile, the man-o'-war's boat has been drawing 
 in towards the beach, heading for a little embayment, 
 formed by the shore-line and the sand-bar already 
 spoken of. The horsemen coming from the toAvn-side 
 do not see it ; nor can the crew of the boat perceive 
 them. The land-ridge is between the two parties, its 
 crest concealing them from one another. They are 
 approaching it at a like rate of speed ; for, although 
 the horses appear to be in a gallop, it is only a fancy 
 gait fashionable among Spanish Californians, its pur* 
 pose to exhibit equestrian skill. The two horsemen, 
 looking up the hill, see two heads on the housetop, 
 and know that ladies' ej'es are upon them. Surrepti- 
 tiously goaded by the spur, their steeds plunge anc' 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 75 
 
 eurvet, apparently advancing at a rapid pace, but in 
 reality covering little ground. At length both parties 
 disappear from the eyes of those on the azotea. They 
 Lave gone under the brow of the hill, which, overhang- 
 ing for a short distance, shuts out a view of the road. 
 as also the strip of sandy shore. 
 
 Unseen from above, the man-o'-war's boat beaches; 
 and the two officers spring out upon the strand. One 
 of them, turning, says something to the cockswain, 
 who has remained in the stern-sheets, with the tiller- 
 ropes held in hand. It is an order, with instructions 
 about where and when he is to attend them for their 
 return to the ship. 
 
 " At the new wharf in the harbor," Crozier is heard 
 to say ; for it is he who commands, on account of sen- 
 iority in rank. 
 
 His order given, the boat shoves off, and is rowed 
 back toward the ship ; while the officers commence 
 climbing the slope to get upon the shore-road. At the 
 same time the horsemen are ascending from the oppo- 
 site side. Soon both parties are again within view of 
 those on the housetop ; but neither as yet sees the 
 other, or has any suspicion of their mutual proximity, 
 The crest of the ridge is still between ; and, in a few 
 seconds more, they will sight one another. The men 
 afoot are advancing at about the same rate of speed as 
 those on horseback. The latter have ceased showing 
 off, as if satisfied with the impression they must have 
 already made, and are now approaching in tranquil 
 gait, but with an air of subdued triumph, — the mock 
 modesty of the matador, who, with blood-stained sword, 
 bends meekly before the box where beauty sits smiling 
 approbation. The two pedestrians climb the hill less 
 ceremoniously. Glad to stretch their limbs upon land, 
 
76 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 shake the knots out of them, as the junior gleeful^ 
 remarks, they eagerly scale the steep ; not silent either, 
 but laughing and shouting like a couple of schoolboys 
 abroad for an afternoon's holiday. 
 
 Suddenly coming wi.hin view of the house, the} 
 bring their boisterous humor under restraint at sight 
 of two heads appearing above the roof; for they know 
 to whom these belong, and note that the faces are 
 turned towards them. 
 
 At the same instant the horsemen, also, see the 
 heads, and observe that the faces areno£ turned towards 
 them. On the contrary, they are averted, the ladies 
 looking aslant in another direction. 
 
 Some chagrin in this, after all their grand caracol- 
 ing and feats of equitation, that must have been wit- 
 nessed by the fair spectators. At what are these now 
 gazing ? Is it a ship sailing up the bay, or something 
 else on the water? No matter what, and whether on 
 land or water ; enough for the cavaliers to think they 
 are being slightingly received. Disconcerted, they 
 seek an explanation, mutually questioning one another. 
 Before either can make answer in speech, both have 
 it before their eyes, in the shape of two British naval 
 officers. 
 
 Like themselves, the latter have just reached the 
 summit of the ridge, and are coming on towards Don 
 Gregorio's gate. It is midway between ; and, keeping 
 on at the same rate of speed, they will meet directlv 
 in front of it, 
 
 Neither pair has ever set eyes on the other before 
 for all this, there is an expression on the faces of all 
 four that tells of mutual surmises cf no friendly nature. 
 
 Calderon says to De Lara, sotto voce, " The English 
 officers ! " 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 77 
 
 Cadwallader whispers to Crozier, " The fellows we've 
 heard about, — our rivals, Ned; like ourselves, I sup- 
 pose, going to visit the girls." 
 
 De Lara makes no response to Calderon; neither 
 does Crozier to Cadwallader; there is not time. 
 The}- are all close up to the gate, and there is only its 
 breadth between them. 
 
 They have arrived there at the same instart of time, 
 and simultaneously make stop — face to face, silenc« 
 on both sides ; not a word offered in exchange. But 
 looks are quite as expressive, — glances that speak the 
 language of jealous rivalry, of rage with difficulty 
 suppressed. 
 
 It is a question of precedence as to who shall first 
 pass through the gate. Their hesitation is not from 
 any courtesy, but the reverse. The men on horseback 
 look down on those afoot contemptuously, scornfully, 
 threateningly, too, as if they thought of riding over, 
 and trampling them under the hoofs of their horses. 
 No doubt they would like to do it, and might make 
 trial, were the young officers unarmed. But they are 
 not. Crozier carries a pistol ; Cadwallader, his mid- 
 shipman's dirk, both appearing outside their uniforms. 
 
 For a period of several seconds' duration, the rivals 
 stand vis-a-vis, neither venturing to advance. Around 
 them is a nimbus of angry electricity that needs but a 
 spark to kindle it into furious flame. A single word 
 would do it. This word spoken, and two of the four 
 may never enter Don Gregorio's gate ; at least, not 
 alive. 
 
 It is not spoken. The only speech is one which 
 passes from Crozier to Cadwallader, not in a whisper, 
 but aloud, and without regard to the effect it may nave 
 on the Californians, 
 
 2* 
 
78 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 " Come along, Will! We've something better 
 before us than stand shilly-shallying here. Heato 
 after me, shipmate ! " 
 
 Crozier' s speech cuts the Gordian knot ; and the 
 officers, gliding through the gateway, advance along 
 the avenue. With faces now turned towards the house, 
 they see the ladies still upon the azotea. Soon as near 
 tnough for Carmen to see it, Crozier draws out the 
 treasured tress, and fastens it in his cap, behind the 
 gold band. It falls over his shoulder like a cataract 
 of liquid amber. Cadwallader does likewise ; and 
 from his cap also streams a tress black as the plumage 
 of a raven. The two upon the housetop appear 
 pleased by this display. They show their approval by 
 imitating it. Each raises hand to her riding-hat ; and, 
 when these are withdrawn, a curl of hair is seen twin- 
 ing over their toquillas, — one chestnut-brown, the 
 other golden-hued. 
 
 Scarcely is this love-telegraphy exchanged, when 
 the two Californians come riding up the avenue at full 
 speed. Though lingering at the gate, and still far off, 
 De Lara has observed the affair of the tresses, and 
 understood the symbolism of the act. Exasperated 
 beyond bounds, he can no longer control himself, and 
 cares no J : what may come. At his instigation, Calde- 
 ron spurs on by his side, the two tearing furiously 
 along. Their purpose is evident, — to force the pedes- 
 trians from the path, and so humble them in the e3*es 
 of their sweethearts. On his side, Crozier remains 
 cool, admonishing Cadwallader to do the same. He 
 feels the power of possession, assured by those smiles 
 that the citadel is theirs. It is for the outsiders to 
 tij&ke the assault. 
 
 4 'Give a clear gangwa} T , Will," he says, "and let 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 79 
 
 them pass. We can talk to the gentlemen after- 
 wards. 
 
 Both step back among the manzanita bushes ; and 
 the ginete go galloping past; De Lara, on Crozier's 
 side, scowling down, as if he would annihilate him with 
 a look. The scowl is returned with interest, though 
 the officer still reserves speech. On the other edge of 
 the avenue, the action is a little different. The mid- 
 shipman, full of youthful freak, determines on having 
 his lark. He sees the chance, and cannot restrain 
 himself. As Calderon sweeps past, he draws his dirk, 
 and pricks the Californian's horse in the hip. The 
 animal, maddened by the pain, bounds to one side, 
 and then shoots off at increased speed, still further 
 heightened by the fierce exclamations of his rider, and 
 the mocking laugh sent after him by the mid. Under 
 the walls, the two horsemen come to a halt, neither 
 having made much by their bit of rude bravadoism. And 
 they know they will have a reckoning to settle for it : 
 at least, De Lara does ; for on the brow of Crozier, 
 coming up, he can read the determination to call him 
 to account. He is not flurried about this. On the 
 contrary, he has courted it, knowing himself a skilled 
 swordsman, and dead shot. Eemembering that he has 
 already killed his man, he can await with equanimity 
 the challenge he has provoked. It ; .s not fear has 
 brought the pallor to his cheeks, and set the dark seal 
 upon his brow. Both spring from a different passion, 
 observable in his e^yes as he turns them towards the 
 housetop ; for the ladies are still there, looking down. 
 
 Saluting, he says, " Dona Carmen, can I have the 
 honor of an interview? " 
 
 The lad}- does not make immediate answer. A spec- 
 tator of all that has passed, she ooserves the hostile 
 
80 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 attitude between the two sets of visitors . To receive 
 both at the same time will be more than embarrassing. 
 With their passions roused to such a pitch of angei, it 
 must end in a personal encounter. Her duty is clear. 
 She is mistress of the house, representing her father in 
 his absence. The } T oung officers are there b} r invita- 
 tion. At thought of this, she no longer hesitates. 
 
 "Not now, Don Francisco de Lara," she sa}-s, an- 
 swering his question ; " not to-day. We must beg of 
 you to excuse us." 
 
 "Indeed!" rejoins he sneeringly. "Will it be 
 deemed discourteous in me to ask why we are denied?" 
 
 It is discourteous, and so Dona Carmen deems it. 
 Though she does not tell him as much in words, he 
 can understand it from her reply. 
 
 "You are quite welcome to know the reason. W r e 
 have an engagement." 
 
 " Oh, an engagement ! " 
 
 "Yes, sir, an engagement," she repeats, in a tone 
 telling of irritation. " Those gentlemen 3-ou see are 
 our guests. My father has invited them to spend the 
 da} r with us." 
 
 "Ah! 3*our father has invited them! How very 
 good of Don Gregorio Montijo giving his hospitality 
 to gringos ! And Dona Carmen has added her entrea- 
 ties, no doubt?" 
 
 "Sir," saj's Carmen, no longer able to conceal her 
 indignation, "your speech is impertinent, insulting. 
 I shall listen to it no longer." 
 
 Saying this, she steps back, disappearing behind the 
 parapet, where Inez has alread} T concealed herself, at 
 the close of a similar short but stormy dialogue with 
 Calderon. 
 
 De Lara, a lurid look in his eyes, sits in his saddle 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 81 
 
 as if ill a stupor. He is aroused from it by a voice, 
 Crozier's, saving, *• You appear anxious to make apol 
 ogy to the lady : 3-ou can make it to me." 
 
 44 Carrail'* exclaims the Creole, starting, and glar- 
 ing angrily at the speaker. " Who are you? " 
 
 " One who demands an apology for your rude be 
 havior. ,; 
 
 44 You will not get it." 
 
 44 Satisfaction, then? " 
 
 44 That to your heart's content." 
 
 44 1 shall have it so. Your card, sir." 
 
 44 There, take it. Yours?" 
 
 The bits of pasteboard are exchanged, after which 
 De Lara, casting another glance up to the azotea, 
 where he sees nothing but blank wall, turns his horse's 
 head, and, spitefully plying the spur, gallops back 
 down the avenue, his comrade closely following. 
 
 Calderon has not deemed it incumbent upon him 
 to ask a card from Cadwallader ; nor has the latter 
 thought it necessary to demand one from him. The 
 mid is quite contented with what he has done with his 
 dirk. 
 
 The young officers enter the house in cheerful confi- 
 dence that they have lost nothing by the encounter, and 
 that those inside will still smilingly receive them. 
 
82 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 A SHIP WITHOUT SAILOB8. 
 
 AMONG the vessels tying in the harbor of San 
 Francisco is one athwart whose stern may bfl 
 read the name " El Condor." 
 
 She is a ship of small size, some five or six hundred 
 tons, devoted to peaceful commerce, as can be told by 
 certain peculiarities of rig and structure understood by 
 seamen. 
 
 The name will suggest a South American nationality, 
 — Ecuadorian, Peruvian, Bolivian, or Chilian, — since 
 the bird after which she has been baptized is found in 
 all these States. Columbia and the Argentine Confed- 
 eration can also claim it. 
 
 But there is no need to guess at the particular coun- 
 try to which the craft in question belongs. The flag 
 suspended over her taffrail declares it b}^ a s}Tnbolism 
 intelligible to those who take an interest in national 
 insignia. 
 
 It is a tricolor, — the orthodox and almost universal 
 red^ white, and blue ; not, as with the French, disposed 
 vertically, but in two horizontal bands ; the lower one, 
 crimson red ; the upper, half white, half blue, the last 
 contiguous to the staff, with a single five-pointed star 
 set centrally in its field ; this, with the disposition of 
 colors, proclaiming the ship that carries them to be of 
 Chili. 
 
 -She is not the only Chilian vessel in the harbor of 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 83 
 
 San Francisco. Several other craft are there that 
 show the same colors, — brigs, barks, schooners, and 
 6hips ; for the spirited little South Aii.erican republic 
 is as prosperous as enterprising, and iti flag waves far 
 and wide over the Pacific. With its population of 
 skilled miners, it has been among the first of foreign 
 States in sending a large representative force to cradle 
 the gold of California. Not only are its ships lying in 
 the ba}' , but its guasos and gambusinos in goodly num- 
 ber tread the streets of the town ; while many of the 
 dark-eyed damsels, who from piazzas and balconies 
 salute the passer-b t y with seductive smiles, are those 
 charming little Chilenas that make sad havoc with the 
 heart of almost every Jack-tar who visits Valparaiso. 
 
 On the ship "El Condor" we meet not much that 
 can be strictly called Chilian, — little besides the vessel 
 herself, and the captain commanding her ; not com- 
 manding her sailors, since there are none aboard, hail- 
 ing from Chili or elsewhere. Those who brought her 
 into San Francisco Bay have abandoned her, — gone 
 off to the gold-diggings. Arriving in the heat of the 
 placer-fever, they have preferred seeking fortune with 
 pick, shovel, and pan, to handling tarry ropes at ten 
 dollars a month. Almost on the instant of the " Con- 
 dor's " dropping anchor, they deserted, to a man, leav- 
 ing her skipper alone, with only the cook for a compan- 
 ion. Neither is the latter Chilian, but African, a 
 native of Zanzibar. Neither are the two great mon- 
 keys observed gambolling about the deck ; for the 
 climate of Chili, lying outside the equatorial belt, is 
 too cold for the qaadrumana. 
 
 Not much appearing upon the "Condor" would 
 proclaim her a South American ship ; and nothing in 
 her cargo, though a cargo she caries. She has 'ust 
 
84 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 arrived from a trading- voyage to the South Sea Isles 
 extending to the Indian Archipelago, whence her lad« 
 ing, — a varied assortment, consisting of tortoise-shell, 
 spices, mother-of pearl, Manila cigars, and such othei 
 commodities as may be collected among the Oriental 
 islands. Hence, also, two large myas monkeys, — 
 better known as orang-outangs, — seen pla3'ing about 
 her deck. These she has brought from Borneo. 
 
 Only a small portion of her freight had been con- 
 signed to San Francisco ; and this has been long ago 
 landed. The rest remains in her hold, awaiting trans- 
 port to Valparaiso. How soon she may arrive there, 
 or take departure from her present anchorage, is a ques- 
 tion that even her captain cannot answer. If asked, he 
 would most probably reply, " Quien sabe?" and, fur- 
 ther pressed, might point to her deserted decks, offering 
 that as an explanation of his inability to satisf} T the 
 inquirer. Her captain, Antonio Lantanas by name, 
 is a sailor of the Spanish American tj T pe ; and, being 
 this, he takes crosses and disappointments cooll}\ 
 Even the desertion of his crew seems scarcely to ruffle 
 him : he bears it with a patient resignation that would 
 be quite incomprehensible to either English or Yankee 
 skipper. With a broad-brimmed jipi-japa hat, shading 
 his thin, swarth features from the sun, he lounges all 
 day long upon his quarter-deck, with elbows usually 
 rested upon the capstan-head ; his sole occupation 
 being to roll paper cigarritos, one of which is usually 
 either in his fingers, or between his lips. If he at any 
 time varies this, it is to eat his meals, or take a turn 
 at play with his pet monkeys. These are male and 
 female, bo^h full of fun in their uncouth fashion ; and 
 Capt. Lantanas takes it out of them by occasionally 
 touching their snouts with the lighted end of his oiga 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 85 
 
 rette. laughing to see them scamper off scared at the 
 singular and somewhat painful effect of fire. 
 
 His meals are served regularly three times a day ) 
 and his cook, — a negro, black as the tar upon the rat- 
 line ropes, — after having served them, returns to an 
 idleness equalling his own. He, too, has his diveision 
 with the orangs, approaching much nearer to them in 
 physical appearance, and for this reason, perhaps, to 
 them a more congenial playmate. 
 
 Once a day the skipper steps into his gig, and rowa 
 himself ashore, but not to search for sailors : he 
 knows that would be an idle errand. True, there are 
 plenty of them in San Francisco ; scores parading its 
 streets, and other scores seated or standing within its 
 taverns and restaurants. But they are all on the spree ; 
 all rollicking, and, if not rich, hoping soon to be. Not 
 a man of them could be coaxed to take service on 
 board an out-bound ship for a wage less than would 
 make the vo} r age unprofitable to her owners. 
 
 As the Chilian skipper is not only master, but pro- 
 prietor, of his own craft, he has no intention to stir 
 under the circumstances, but is contented to wait till 
 times change, and tars become inclined again to go to 
 sea. When this may be, and the "Condor" shall 
 have spread her canvas wings for a further flight to 
 Valparaiso, he has not the remotest idea. He enters 
 the town, but to meet other skippers with ships crew- 
 less as his own, and exchange condolences on their 
 common destitution. On a certain day, that on which 
 we are introduced to him, he has not sculled himself 
 ashore, but abides upon his vessel, awaiting the arrival 
 of one who has sent him a message. 
 
 Although San Francisco is fast becoming transformed 
 into an American city, and alread} 7, has its several 
 
 9 
 
86 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 newspapers, there is among them a small sheet printed 
 in Spanish, by name "El Diario." In this Capt, 
 Lantanas has advertised his vessel, open for freight, or 
 passage, bound for Valparaiso, and to call at interme- 
 diate ports, Panama among the number. The adver- 
 tisement directs reference to be made to a shipping- 
 agent, by name Don Tomas Silvestre. In answer to 
 it, Capt. Lantanas has received a letter from a gentle- 
 man who has alread}^ communicated with his agent, and 
 who has promised to present himself on board the 
 " Condor" by twelve meridian of this day. 
 
 Although a stranger to the port of San Francisco, 
 the Chilian skipper has some knowledge of his corre- 
 spondent ; for Don Tomas has the da}' before informed 
 him that a gentleman, from whom he may expect to 
 hear, — the same whose name is signed to the letter, — 
 is a man of w r ealth, a large landed proprietor, whose 
 acres lie contiguous to the rising city of San Francisco, 
 and for this reason enormously increased in value by 
 the influx of gold-seeking immigrants. What this 
 important personage ma} T want with him, Lantanas 
 cannot tell ; for Silvestre himself has not been made 
 aware of it, the gentleman declining to state his busi- 
 ness to ai:ry other than the captain of the ship. 
 
 On the morning of the appointed day, 'eaning, as 
 usual, against his capstan, and purring his paper cigar, 
 the Chilian skipper is not in a mood for pla}*ing with 
 his monkey pets. His mind is given to a more serious 
 matter ; his whole thoughts being absorbed in conjec- 
 turing for what purpose his unknown correspondent 
 may be seeking the interview. He is not without sur- 
 mises, in which he is assisted by something he hag 
 heard wh le mixing in Spanish circles ashore, — this, 
 *b\t the land-owner in question has lately sold hi? 
 
A STOES" OF THE SOUTH SEA. Si 
 
 land, realizing an immense sum, half a million dollars 
 being rumored. Furthermore, that being a Spaniard, 
 and neither Mexican nor Californian, he is about to 
 return to Spain, taking with him his household gods, — 
 Lares, Penates, and all. These could not be stowed 
 in a single state-room, but would require a whole ship, 
 or a goodlv portion of one. The " Condor" has still 
 plenty of room to spare. Her hold is not half full , 
 and her cabin has accommodation for several passen- 
 gers. It may be on this veiy business his correspond- 
 ent is comiug aboard. Capt. Lantanas so interro- 
 gates himself while standing upon his quarter-deck, 
 and with the glowing coal of his cigarrito fending off 
 his hairy familiars, who, in their play, at times intrude 
 apon him. It pleases him to think he maj- have sur- 
 mised correctly ; and, while still indulging in conjec- 
 ture, he sees something which puts an end to it. This 
 is a shore-boat, with a single pair of rowers, and a 
 gentleman, evidently a landsman, seated in the stern- 
 sheets, to all appearance coming on for the " Condor.' ' 
 Capt. Lantanas steps to the side of his ship, and, 
 standing in her waist, awaits the arrival of his visitor. 
 As the boat draws near, he makes out a man, dressed 
 in semi-Californian costume, such as is worn by the 
 higher class of haciendados. The skipper can have no 
 question as to who it is : if he has, it is soon answered ; 
 for the boat, touching the ship's side, is instantly made 
 fast. The Californian mounts the man-ropes, and, 
 stepping down upon the deck, hands Capt. Lantanas 
 his card. 
 
 He who has presented himself on the quarter-deck 
 of the " Condor" is a man in 3-ears well up to sixty, 
 and somewhat above medium height, taller than he 
 appears^ through a slight stoop in tbe shoulders. His 
 
88 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 step, though not tottering, shows vigor impaired ; and 
 upon his countenance are the traces of recent illness, 
 with strength not yet restored. His complexion is 
 clear, rather rubicund, and in health might be more sc ; 
 while his hail, both on head and chin (the latter a long, 
 flowing beard), is snow white. It could never havo 
 been very dark, but more likely of the color called 
 sandy. This, with grayish-blue eyes, and features show- 
 ing some points of Celtic conformation, would argue 
 him either no Spaniard, or, if so, one belonging to the 
 province of Biscay. 
 
 This last he is ; for the correspondent of Capt. Lan 
 tanas is Don Gregorio Montijo. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 A CHARTER-PARTY. 
 
 SOON as assured, by a glance at the card given 
 him, that his visitor is the gentleman who has 
 written to appoint an interview, Capt. Lantanas po- 
 litely salutes, and, jivi-japa in hand, stands waiting to 
 hear what the haciendado may have to say. 
 
 The latter, panting after the effort made in ascend- 
 ing the man-ropes, takes a moment's time to recover 
 breath; then, returning the skipper's bott, he interro- 
 gates, " Capt. Lantanas, I presume? " 
 
 " Si, senor" responds the master of the " Condor," 
 with a bow of becoming humility to a man reputed so 
 rich; then adding, "A dispocion de V." ("At your 
 service.") 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 89 
 
 "Well, captain," rejoins Don Gregorio, "1 shall 
 Lake it for granted that you know who I am. Don 
 Tonias Silvestre has informed 3*ou, has he not?" 
 
 "He has, senor." 
 
 " And 3'ou've received my letter? " 
 
 " JSi, senor." 
 
 " That's all right, then. And now to proceed to th« 
 business that has brought me aboard your ship. Hav- 
 ing seen your advertisement in the " Diario," I com- 
 municated with Don Tom as, but only so far as to get 
 your correct address, with some trifling particulars. For 
 the rest, I've thought it best to deal directly with your- 
 self, as the matter I have in hand is too important to be 
 altogether intrusted to an agent. In short, it requires 
 confidence, if not secrecy ; and from what I've heard 
 of you, captain, I feel sure I can confide in }~ou." 
 
 " You compliment me, Senor Montijo." 
 
 "No, no! nothing of the kind, I but speak from 
 me impression Silvestre has given me of your charac- 
 ter. But now to business. Your ship is advertised 
 for freight, or passage? " 
 
 " Either, or both." 
 
 " Bound for Valparaiso and intermediate ports? " 
 
 " Anywhere down the coast." 
 
 " Have you any passengers already engaged? " 
 
 " Not any as yet." 
 
 " How many can you take? " 
 
 "Well, senor, to speak truth, my craft is not 
 intended to carry passengers. She's a trading-vessel, 
 as you see. But, if you'll step down to the cabin, you 
 can judge for yourself. There's the saloon (not very 
 large, it is true) , and sleeping-accommodation for six, 
 — two snug state rooms, that will serve, if need be., 
 fo~ ladies." 
 
90 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 " That will do. Now about the freight. Don To 
 inas tells me 3'ou have some cargo aboard.'' 
 
 " A portion of my ship is already occupied." 
 
 " That won't signify to me. I suppose there's 
 enough room left for something that weighs less than a 
 ton, and isn't of any great bulk. Say it will take half 
 a score of cubic feet : you can find stowage for that? " 
 . " Oh, 3 T es ! much more than that." 
 
 41 So far good. And you can accommodate three 
 passengers, — a gentleman and two ladies? In short, 
 myself and the female members of my family, — my 
 daughter and grand-daughter ? ' ' 
 
 " Will the Senor Montljo step into the ' Condor's ' 
 cabin, and see for himself? " 
 
 u By all means." 
 
 Capt. Lantanas leads clown the stairway, his visitor 
 following. The saloon is inspected ; after it the sleep- 
 ing-rooms, right and left. 
 
 " Just the thing," says Don Gregorio, speaking in 
 soliloqiry, and evidently satisfied. " It will do admi- 
 rably," he adds, addressing himself to the skipper. 
 " And now, Capt. Lantanas, about terms. What are 
 they to be?" 
 
 " That, senor, will depend on what is wanted. To 
 what port do 3'ou wish me to take you? " 
 
 " Panama. 'Tis one of the ports mentioned in your 
 ad vertisement ? ' ' 
 
 " It is, senor." 
 
 " Well, for this freight — as I've told you, about a 
 ton, with some trifling household effects — and the three 
 passengers, how much? " 
 
 " The terms of freight, as you may be aware, are 
 usually rated according to the class of goods. Is it 
 gold, Don Gregorio? From your descripti<-jn, I sup- 
 pose it is." 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 91 
 
 The skippei has guessed aright. It is gold (nearly 
 a ton of it) accruing to Don Gregorio from the sale 
 of his land, for which he has been paid in dust and 
 nuggets, at that time the only coin in California, 
 indeed, the only circulating medium, since notes were 
 not to be had. The ex-haciendado is by no means a 
 niggardly man : still he would like to have his treasure 
 transported at a rate not exorbitant. And yet he is 
 anxious about its safety, and for this reason has 
 resolved to ship it with secrecj^, and iu a private trad- 
 ing-vessel, instead of by one of the regular liners 
 already commenced plying between San Francisco and 
 Panama. He has heard that these are crowded with 
 miners returning home, rough fellows ; many of them 
 queer characters, some little better than bandits. He 
 dislikes the idea of trusting his gold among them, and 
 equally his girls, since no other ladies are likely to be 
 going that way. He has full faith in the integrity of 
 Capt. Lantanas, and knows the Chilian skipper to be a 
 man of gentle heart, in fact, a gentleman. Don 
 Tomas has told him all this. 
 
 Under the circumstances, and with such a man, it 
 will not do to drive too hard a bargain ; and Don Gre- 
 gorio, thus reflecting, confesses his freight to be gold, 
 and asks the skipper to name his terms. 
 
 Lantanas, after a moment spent in mental calcula- 
 tion, says, " One thousand dollars for the freight, and 
 a hundred each for the three passages. Win that suit 
 you, serior?" 
 
 u It seems a large sum," rejoins the ex-haciendado, 
 " But I am aware prices are high just now : so I agree 
 to it. When will you be ready to sail? " 
 
 u I am readj' now, sc~ior; that is, if " — 
 
 4 < If what?" 
 
92 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 The captain, remembering his crewless ship, does no; 
 make immediate answer. 
 
 " If," sa} T s Don Gregorio, noticing his hesitation, 
 and mistaking the reason — "if you're calculating on 
 any delay from me, you needn't. I can have every 
 tlang on board in three or four daj^s, — a week at the 
 utmost." 
 
 The skipper is still silent, thinking of excuses. Ho 
 dislikes losing the chance of such a profitable cargo, 
 and yet knows he cannot name an}- certain time of sail- 
 ing for the want of hands to work his ship. There 
 seems no help for it but to confess his shortcomings. 
 Perhaps Don Gregorio will wait till the * ' Condor ' ' can 
 get a crew. The more likely, since almost every othei 
 vessel in port is in a similar predicament. 
 
 " Senor" he says at length, " my ship is at your 
 service ; and I should be pleased and proud to have you 
 and your ladies as my passengers. But there's a little 
 difficulty to be got over before I can leave San Fran- 
 cisco." 
 
 "Clearance duties — port dues to be paid. You 
 want the passage-money advanced, I presume? Wel^ 
 I shall not object to prepaying it, in part. How much 
 will you require? " 
 
 "Mil gmcias, Seiior Montijo. It's not anything 
 of that kind. Although far from rich, thank Heaven ! 
 neither I nor my craft is under embargo. I could sail 
 out of this harbor in half an hour, but for the want 
 of" — 
 
 " Want of what? " asks the ex-Jiacier.dado, in some 
 surprise. 
 
 " Well, senor — sailois." 
 
 " What ! Have you no sailors? " 
 
 "lam sorry to say, not one." 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 93 
 
 rt Well, Capt. Lantanas, I thought it strange that 1 
 observed nobody aboard your ship, except that; black 
 fellow, But I supposed your sailors had gone ashore." 
 
 "So have they, senor — and intend staying there. 
 Aia-3 ! that's the trouble. They've gone off to the 
 gold-diggings, — every one of them, except ray negro 
 cook. Likely enough I should have lost him too, but 
 he knows that California is now part of the United 
 States, and fears that some speculating Yankee might 
 make a slave of him, or that he might meet his old 
 master ; for he has had one already." 
 
 " How vexatious all this ! " says Don Gregorio. " T 
 fear I shall have to look out for another ship." 
 
 " I fear 3-011' 11 not find one much better provided 
 than mine — as regards sailors. In that respect, to 
 use a professional phrase, we're all in the same boat." 
 
 " You assure me of that? " 
 
 " I do, senor." 
 
 " I can trust j'ou, Capt. Lantanas. As I have told 
 you, I'm not here without knowing something of your- 
 self. You have a friend in Don Tomas Silvestre? " 
 
 " I believe I have the honor of Don Tomas' friend- 
 ship." 
 
 "Well, he has recommended you in such terms, that 
 I can thoroughly rely upon }'ou : for that reason, I shall 
 now make known why I wish to travel by your ship." 
 
 The Chilian skippei bows thanks for the compliment, 
 and silently awaits the proffered confidence. 
 
 " I have just sold my property here, receiving for it 
 thre e hundred thousand dollars in gold-dust, — the same 
 intended for your freight. It is now lying at my house, 
 some three miles from town. As you must be aware, 
 Capt. LaDtanas, this place is at present the rendezvous 
 of scoundrels collected from every country on the fact? 
 
94 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 of the earth, but chiefly from the United States and 
 Australia. They live and act almost without regard to 
 law ; such judges as the} 7 have being almost as great, 
 i riminals as those brought before them. I feel impa- 
 tient to get away from the place ; which, under the cir- 
 cumstances, you won't wonder at. And I am naturally 
 anxious about rny gold-dust. At an}* hour, a band of 
 these lawless ruffians may take it into their heads to 
 snip me of it, or, at all events, attempt to do so. 
 Therefore I wish to get it aboard a ship, — one where 
 it will be safe, and in whose captain I can thoroughly 
 confide. Now, captain, you understand me?" 
 
 " I do," is the simple response of the Chilian. He 
 is about to add that Don Gregorio's gold, as also his 
 secret, will be safe enough, so far as he can protect it, 
 when the ex-haciendado interrupts him by continuing, — 
 
 " I may add that it is my intention to return to 
 Spain, of which I am a native, — to Cadiz, where I pos- 
 sess some property. That, I intended doing anyhow ; 
 but now I want to take my departure at once. As a 
 Spaniard, senor, I needn't point out to you, who are 
 of the same race, that the society of California cannot 
 be congenial, now that the rowdies of the United 
 States have become its rulers. I am most anxious to 
 get away from the place ?s soon as possible. It is 
 exceedingly awkward yom not having a crew. Can't 
 something be done to procure one ? ' ' 
 
 " The only thing is to offer extra pay. There are 
 plenty of sailors in San Francisco ; for they've not all 
 gone to gather gold : some are engaged in scattering 
 it. Unfortunately, most are worthless, drunken fellows. 
 Still it is possible that a few good men might be founds 
 were the wages made sufficiently tempting. ]No doubt, 
 *n advertisement in the " Diario," offering double pay , 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 95 
 
 might procure me as marry hands as should be needed 
 for working my ship." 
 
 " How much would it all amount to?" 
 
 " Possibly an extra thousand dollars.' ' 
 
 "Suppose I pay that: will 3*011 engage the whole 
 ship to me ; that is, take no other passengers, or wait 
 for any more freight, but sail at once — soon as you've 
 secured a crew? Do 3*011 agree to such terras? " 
 
 " JSi senor: they are perfectly satisfactory." 
 
 "In that case I'll be answerable for the extra 
 wages. Any thing to get away from this pandemonium 
 of a place." 
 
 " I think we shall have no great difficulty in getting 
 sailors. You authorize me to advertise for them? " 
 
 " I do," answers Don Gregorio. 
 
 "Enough!" rejoins the skipper. "And now. 
 senor, 3*011 ma3^ make your preparations for embarking." 
 
 " I have not many to make. Nearly all has been 
 done already. It's only to get our personal baggage 
 aboard, with the freight safety stowed. B3- the wa3 T ," 
 adds the ex-haciendado, speaking sotto voce, " I wish 
 to ship the gold as soon as possible, and without 
 attracting any attention to it. You understand me, 
 captain?" 
 
 "I do." 
 
 " I shall have it brought aboard at night, in a boat 
 wliich belongs to Silvestre. It will be safer in your 
 cabin than anywhere else, since no one need be the 
 wiser about the place of deposit." 
 
 " No one shall, through me." 
 
 " That I feel certain of, Senor Lantanas. Don 
 Tomas is your indorser, and would be willing to be 
 your bondsman, were it needed ; which it is not." 
 
 Again the " Condor's " captain bows in acknowledge 
 
96 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 ment of the confidence reposed in him ; and after some 
 further exchange of speech respecting the shipment of 
 the treasure, and the writing out an advertisement 
 which D(ii Gregorio is to get inserted in the "Diario," 
 the latter returns to his boat, and is rowed back to the 
 shove ; while the Chilian skipper lights a fresh cigarrito, 
 and, with elbows rested on the capstan-head, resumes 
 the attitude of insouciance out of which he has been 
 temporarily aroused. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 IN SEARCH OF A SECOND. 
 
 JUST about the time Don Gregorio is taking leave 
 of Capt. Lantanas, the two unreceived visitors are 
 turning their backs upon his house. De Lara feels the 
 discomfiture the keenest. His heart is harrowed with 
 mingled emotions, — passions of varied complexion, all 
 evil. His lips are livid with rage, his brow black with 
 chagrin ; while his e3~es fairly scintillate with unsatis- 
 fied vengeance. While returning along the avenue, he 
 neither looks back nor up. Not a syllable escapes 
 him. With glance upon the ground, he rides in sullen 
 silence. 
 
 After clearing the entrance-gate, and again upon the 
 outside road, he turns face toward the dwelling whose 
 hospitality has been denied him. He sees nought there 
 .o soothe, but something which still further afflicts him. 
 Four horses are filing out through the front-gate, con- 
 ducted b} T grooms. Thej r are saddled, bridled, ready 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 97 
 
 for being mounted. To his practised eye, their capari- 
 son tells that the}' are intended only for a short excur« 
 sion, not a journey, And, though their saddles are 
 nearly alike, he knows that only two of them are to bo 
 mounted by men, the other two to carry ladies. The 
 seuoritas are going out for a ride, — a paseo de campo, 
 — accompanied by their English guests. Simultane- 
 ously, as instinctively, the two Californians arrive at 
 this conclusion. Now the}' know why they were not 
 received ; a knowledge, which, instead of tranquillizing 
 their chafed spirits, but maddens them the more. The 
 thought of their sweethearts being escorted by their 
 rivals, riding along wild unfrequented paths, through 
 trees overshadowing, away from the presence of spy- 
 ing domestics, or the interference of protecting rela- 
 tives, beyond the eyes and ears of every one — the 
 thought that Carmen Montijo and Inez Alvarez are 
 setting out on an excursion of this kind is to Frank 
 Lara and Faustino Calderon bitter as deadliest poison. 
 And reflection imbitters it the more. The excursion- 
 ists will have every opportunity of wandering at will. 
 They will become separated ; and there can be no 
 doubt as to how the partition will be made : the older 
 of the two officers will pair cif with Dona Carmen, the 
 younger with Dona Inez. Thus the}' will ride unmo- 
 lested, unobserved; converse without fear of being 
 overheard, clasp hands without danger of being seen — 
 perhaps exchange kisses. Oh the dire, maddening jeal- 
 ousy ! Even the dull brain and cold heart of Calderon 
 are fired by these reflections. They sting him to tne 
 quick, jut not as De Lara ; for not as De Lara does he 
 love. 
 
 After gazing for a while at the house, at the horses 
 and grooms, at the preparations that are being made 
 
98 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 for mounting, noting their magnificent style, with a 
 last glance such as Satan gave when expelled from 
 Paradise, the Creole drives the spur deep into hi3 
 horse's side, and dashes off down the hill, Calderon 
 keeping after. At its bottom they again halt, being 
 now out of sight of the house. Facing toward his com- 
 panion, De Lara says, "We're in for a fight, Faustino, 
 both of us." 
 
 " Not both. I don't think I'm called upon to chal- 
 lenge that youngster. He's but a boy." 
 
 " He's been man enough to insult you ; and, if I 
 mistake not, you'll find him man enough to meet you." 
 
 " I don't see that he did insult me." 
 
 "Indeed! you don't? Sticking your horse, as if it 
 were a pig, and sending him off in a stampede that 
 well-nigh dismounted 3-011, — all before the face of your 
 lady-love, right under her eyes ! You don't deem that 
 an insult, eh?" 
 
 "But 3-011 must remember I gave him provocation. 
 At your instigation, I nearly rode over him. Looking 
 at it in that light, he's in a sense excusable for what 
 he did. Besides, he only meant it as a joke : when it 
 was all over, he laughed at it." 
 
 "Not at it, but at you: so did your sweetheart, 
 amigo. As we reined up under the walls, I could see 
 her long lashes drooping down, her cjts looking dis- 
 dain at you, with her pretty lips pouting in scorn. 
 You're evidently out of her good graces, and 3-011' U 
 have to do something ere 3-011 can reinstate yourself." 
 
 " Do 3-011 realty think so?" 
 
 "I'm sure of it. Never surer of any thing in mj; 
 life." 
 
 " But what would 3-ou have me do? " 
 
 " You ouo-ht to know without asking me. Call out 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 99 
 
 the cub, and kill him — if you can. That's what I de« 
 sign doing with my gentleman." 
 
 "Ah I you're a dead shot; and that makes ah tha 
 difference. These Anglo-Saxons alwaj-s use pistols ; 
 and, if I challenge him, he'll have the choice of weap- 
 ons." 
 
 " Quite true. With me it will be different. I took 
 care to give the affront, and you should have done the 
 same. Seeing you got the worst of it, you ought to 
 have followed up your first dash at him by something 
 besides, — a slap across the cheek, or a cut with your 
 whip." 
 
 "I'm sorry now, I didn't do one or the other." 
 
 " "Well, you may find an opportunity" yet. For my 
 quarrel, I don't care a toss whether it be settled with 
 swords or pistols. We Creoles of Louisiana are ac- 
 customed to the use of either weapon. Thanks to old 
 Gardalet of the Rue Ro} T ale, I've got the trick of both, 
 and am equally ready to send a half-ounce of lead, or 
 twelve inches of steel, through 'the body of this Brit- 
 isher. By the wa} r , what's his name? " 
 
 The speaker pulls out the card given him by the 
 English officer, and, glancing at it, answers his own 
 question: " Edward Crozier, H.M.S. ' Crusader.' Ha, 
 Mr. Ned Crozier!" he exclaims, speaking in plain 
 English, the sight of the card seemingly giving a fresh 
 fillip to his spleen. " You've had 3*0111' triumph to-day. 
 It will be mine to-morrow ; and, if my old fortune 
 don't fail me, there'll be an empty seat at the mess- 
 taWe of the ship ' Crusader.' " 
 
 "You really intend fighting him? " 
 
 "Now, Don Faustino Calderon, why do you ask 
 that question? " 
 
 "Because, 1 think all might be arranged with' 
 out" — 
 
100 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 " Without what? Speak out, man ! " 
 
 " Why, without any spilling of blood. " 
 
 " You may arrange that wa}', if 3*011 like. Y'oui 
 quarrel is a distinct one, and I've nothing to do with 
 it, having my own hands full. Indeed, if the} r wei\j 
 empty, I'm not so sure I should second your talking as 
 you do. However, that's not the purpose now. In 
 answer to 3*0111* first question, I can only say what I've 
 said before, — I not only intend fighting this Crozier, 
 but killing him. 1 maj T fail in this m}* intention : if 
 so, there's an end of it, and of me; for, once on the 
 ground, I don't leave it a living man if he does. One 
 or both of us shall stay there till we're carried off — 
 dead." 
 
 " Carramba! 3*our talk gives me the trembles. It's 
 not pleasant to think of such a thing, let alone doing 
 it." 
 
 " Think your own way, and welcome. To me it 
 would be less pleasant to leave it undone now, than 
 ever in ni3' life. After what I've gone through, I don't 
 care much for character; in truth, not a straw. 
 That's all stuff and pretension. Money makes the 
 man ; and without it he's nothing, though he were a 
 saint. Respectability — bah ! I don't value it a claco. 
 But there's a reputation of another kind I do value, 
 and intend to preserve, because, in n^ world, it counts 
 for something — has counted already." 
 
 ••What is that?" 
 
 •' Courage. Losing it, I should lose every thing. 
 And, iii this very city of San Francisco, I'd be only a 
 hound where I'm now a hunter, barked at 03* every 
 eur, and kicked 03- every coward who chose to pick a 
 quarrel with me." 
 
 ••There's no danger of that, De Lara, All whc 
 
A STORY OF THE SOCJTH SEA. 101 
 
 ha\e had dealings with you know better. There's 
 Utile fear of any one putti ag v. slight upon yoi-" 
 
 •'There would be, if I refused tofid^t this, fellow. 
 Then you'd see the difference. ' s ^f%5 rVnsdno CiUde- 
 ron, I couldn't sit at a monte table, and keep the- red- 
 shirts from robbing us, if they didn't know 'twould bo 
 a dangerous game to play. However, it isn't their 
 respect I value now, but that of one very different." 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 " Again you ask an idle question, — so idle, that I 
 ion't believe you care a straw for Inez Alvarez, or 
 know what love is." 
 
 "What has she to do with it? " 
 
 " She? — nothing. That's true enough. I don't care 
 aught for her, or what she might think of me ; but I 
 do for Carmen Montijo and her good opinion ; at 
 least, so far that she sha'n't think me either fool or 
 coward. She ma} T be fancying me the first ; but, if she 
 does, she'll find herself mistaken. At all events, she'll 
 get convinced that I'm not the last. And if it be as 
 rumor reports, and as you say you've heard, that she's 
 given her heart to this gringo, I'll take care she don't 
 bestow her hand upon him — not while I live. When 
 I'm dead, she can do as she likes." 
 
 " But, after what's passed, do 3-011 intend returning 
 to propose to her? " 
 
 "I do; though not till we've finished this affair 
 with the fellows who've interrupted us. Yes, I'll give 
 her every char.ee to save herself. She shall say yes. 
 or nay in straight speech, and in so many words. 
 After that, I'll understand how to act. But come! 
 we're wasting; time. A duel's a thinsr won't do to 
 dally over. Do you intend to meet your man, 01 
 not?" 
 
 e* 
 
102 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 *' I'd rather not, ' replies the poltroon hesitatingly; 
 " that is,- if -the thkig can be arranged. Do you think 
 it can, Do Lara? " 
 
 " Of course, -it can !« your thing, as you call it, 
 though not without disgrace to 3-011. You should fight 
 him, Faustino." 
 
 " Well, if you say I should, wh}', I suppose I must. 
 I never fired a pistol in my life, and am onty second- 
 rate with the sword. I can handle a machete, or a 
 vuchilla, when occasion calls for it ; but these weapons 
 won't be admitted in a duel between gentlemen. 1 
 suppose the sailor-fellow claims to be one? " 
 
 " Undoubtedly he does, and with good reason. An 
 officer belonging to a British man-of-war would call 
 you out for questioning such a claim. But I think 3-ou 
 underrate 3-our skill with the small-sword. I've seen 
 3'ou doing very well with it at Roberto's fencing- 
 school." 
 
 " Yes, I took lessons there. But fencing is very 
 different from fighting." 
 
 "Never mind. When 3'ou get on the duelling- 
 ground, fancy yourself within the walls of Roberto's 
 shooting-galleiy, and that 3-011 are about to take a fresh 
 lesson in the art d'escrime. Above all, choose the 
 sword for your weapon." 
 
 " How can I, if I'm to be the challenger? " 
 
 lC You needn't be. There's a way to get over that. 
 Tie English officers are not going straight back to 
 their ship ; not likely before a late hour of the night. 
 After returning from this ride, I take it the}*' 11 sta3 r to 
 dinner at Don Gregorio's, and, with wine to give them 
 a start, the3 T 'll be prett3 r sure to have a cruise, as thev 
 call ifc, through the town. There 3-011 ma3 r meet your 
 man, and can insult him hy giving him a cuff, spitting 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 103 
 
 in his face, am' thing to put the onus of challenging 
 upon him." 
 
 "Por Dios! I'll do as you say." 
 
 "That's right. Now let us think of what's before 
 us. As we're both to be principals, we can't stand 
 seconds to one another. I know who'll act for me. 
 Have you got a friend 3'ou can call upon ? ' ' 
 
 " Don Manuel Diaz. He's the only one I can think 
 of." 
 
 " Don Manuel will do. He's a cool hand, and 
 knows all the regulations of the duello. But he's net 
 at home to-cla}*. As I chance to know, he's gone to a 
 funcion de gallos at Punta Pedro, and by this time 
 should be in the cockpit." 
 
 " Why can't we go there ? Or had we better send? " 
 
 "Better send, I think. Time's precious, at least 
 mine is. As 3*ou know, I must be at the monte table 
 as soon as the lamps are lighted. If I'm not, the bank 
 will go begging, and we may lose our customers. Be- 
 sides, there's my own second to look up, which must 
 be done this day before I lay a hand upon the cards. 
 "What hour is it? I've not brought nry timepiece with 
 me." 
 
 " Twelve o'clock, and a quarter past," answers Cal 
 deron, after consulting his watch. 
 
 " OiJy that ! Then we'll have plenty of time to get 
 to the cock-fight, and witness a main. Don Manuel 
 has a big bet on his pardo. I'd like to stake a doub- 
 loon or two myself on that bird. Yes, on reflection, 
 we'd better go ourselves. That will be the surest way 
 to secure the services of Diaz. Vamonos! " 
 
 At this, the iwo intending duellists again set their 
 steeds in motion, and, riding for a short distance 
 along the shore-road, turn into another, which wiU 
 
104 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS 
 
 take then to Punta Pedro. Their jealous anger btili 
 anappeased, they urge their horses into a gallop, riding 
 as if for life, on an errand whose upshot ma}' be death 
 ' — to one or both of thern. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 A "PASEO DE CABAL 
 
 THE promontory called Punta Pedro is not in San 
 Francisco Bay, but on the outside coast of the 
 Pacific. To reach it from the former, it is necessary 
 to traverse the dividing. ridge between the two waters, 
 this a spur of the " Coast Range," which, running 
 higher as it trends southward, is known to Spanish Cal- 
 ifornians as the San Bruno Mountains. Punta Pedro 
 abuts from their base into the ocean ; the coast in this 
 quarter being bold and picturesque, but almost unin- 
 habited. Here and there only the solitary hut of a 
 seal-hunter or fisherman, with a small collection of the 
 same near the Point itself, bearing its name, and a 
 somewhat indifferent reputation. The Anglo-Saxon 
 gold-seekers do not go there : it is only frequented by 
 the natives. From San Francisco to Punta Pedro, the 
 road runs past Dolores, an ancient mission of the 
 Franciscan monks, whose port was, as already stated, 
 Yerba Buena previous to becoming rechristened San 
 Francisco. This route De Lara and Calderon have 
 taken, getting into it by a cross-cut ; and along it they 
 contirue to ride, still at a gallop, with faces set for 
 Dolores. They are not the only equestrians upon that 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 105 
 
 load, The dust kicked np by their horses' hoofs has 
 just settled down, when a second party appears, going 
 in the same direction, though in a gentler gait; for it 
 is a cavalcade composed parti}' of ladies. It is a 
 quartet, two of each sex ; and, as the horses are the 
 same alread}' seen standing saddled in the courtyard 
 of Don Gregorio, it is not necessary to give the names 
 of the riders. These can be guessed. Doiia Carmen 
 is carrying out the instructions left by her father, who, 
 Californian fashion, supposed he could give his sailor 
 guests no greater treat than a paseo de caballo, includ- 
 ing an excursion to the old Dolores Mission, without a 
 visit to which no exploration of the country around 
 San Francisco can be considered complete. It is not 
 the least of the " lions." 
 
 Like most Californian damsels, Don Gregorio's 
 daughter takes delight in the saddle, and spends some 
 part of each da} T in it. An accomplished equestrienne, 
 she could take a five-barred gate, or a bullfinch, with 
 any of the hunting Dianas of England ; and, if she has 
 not ridden to hounds, she has chased wild horses, 
 mounted on one but little less wild. That on which 
 she now sits seems but half tamed. Fresh from the 
 stable, he rears and pitches, at times standing erect on 
 his hind-legs : for all, his rider has no fear of being 
 unhorsed. She only smiles, pricks him with the spur. 
 and regardless^ strikes him with her cuarto. Much 
 after the same fashion acts Inez ; for she, too, has 
 learned the Californian style of equitation. The two 
 present a picture, that, to the eye unaccustomed to 
 Mexican habits, might seem somewhat bizarre. Their 
 mode of mount, as aire acty said, a la Duchesse de Bern, 
 their half male attire, hats of vicuna wool, calzoncMlas 
 lace fringed over their feet, buff boots, and large row- 
 
106 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 elled spurs — all these give them an air of picturesque* 
 ness. And if appearing bold, still beautiful, as the 
 South Sea wind ^flouts back the limp brims of their 
 sombreros, and tosses their hair into dishevelmcnt ; 
 while the excitement of the ride brings the color to 
 their cheeks, with flashes as of fire from their eyes. 
 
 The young English officers regard them with glances 
 of ardent admiration. If the}^ have been but smitten 
 before, they are getting fast fixed now ; and both will 
 soon be seriously in love. The paseo de caballo prom- 
 ises to terminate in a proposal for a longer journey 
 together, — through life, in pairs. They are thus rid- 
 ing, — Crozier alongside Carmen, Cadwallader with 
 Inez. The officers are in their uniforms, a costume 
 for equestrian exercise not quite ship-shape, as they 
 would phrase it. On horseback in a naval uniform ! 
 It would not do on an English road : the veriest coun- 
 tiy lout would criticise it. But different in California, 
 where all ride, gentle or simple, in dress of every 
 conceivable cut and fashion, with no fear of ridicule 
 therefor. None need attach to that of Edward Crozier. 
 His rank has furnished him with a frockcoat, which, 
 well fitting, gives a handsome contour to his person. 
 Besides, he is a splendid horseman, has hunted in the 
 shires before he ever set foot aboard a ship. Carmen 
 Montijo perceives this. She can tell it with half a 
 glance. And it pleases her to reflect that her escort- 
 ing cavalier is equal to the occasion. She believe? 
 him equal to any thing. 
 
 With the other pair, the circumstances are slightly 
 different. Willie Cadwallader i? no rider, having had 
 but scant practice, — a fact patent to all, Inez as the 
 others. Besides, the mid is dressed in a pea-jacket, 
 which, although becoming aboard ship, looks a little 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 101 
 
 outre in a saddk-, especially upon a prancing Califor- 
 nian steed. Does it make the young ^Welshman feel 
 ridiculous? Xot a bit. lb is not the stuff to be 
 humiliated on the score of an inappropriate costume ; 
 nor yet by his inferiority in horsemanship, of which 
 he is himself well aware. He but laughs as his steed 
 prances about, the louder when it comes near throw- 
 ing him. 
 
 How does he appear in the eyes of Inez Alvarez ? 
 Does she think him ridiculous ? No ! On the contrary, 
 she seems charmed, and laughs along with him, de- 
 lighted with his naivete, and the courage he displays 
 in not caring for consequences. She knows he is out 
 of his own element, the sea. She believes that there 
 he would be brave, heroic ; among ropes the most 
 skilled of reefers ; and, if he cannot gracefully sit a 
 horse, he could ride big billows, breasting them like an 
 albatross. 
 
 Thus mutually taking each other's measure, the four 
 equestrians canter on, and soon arrive at the Mission ; 
 but the}' do not design to stay there. The ride has 
 been too short, the sweet moments have flown quickly ; 
 and the summit of a high hill, seen far beyond, induces 
 them to continue the excursion. They only stop to 
 give a glance at the old monasteiy, where Spanish 
 monks once lorded it over their red-skinned neophytes ; 
 at the church, where erst ascended incense, and prayers 
 vere pattered in the ears of the aborigines, by them 
 ill understood. A moment spent in the cemetery, 
 where Carmen points out the tomb enclosing the remains 
 of her mother, dropping a tear upon it, perhaps forced 
 from her by the reflection that soon she will be far from 
 that sacred spot, it may be, never mere to behold it. 
 Away from it now ; and on to that hill from which they 
 can descrv the Pacific 
 
108 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 In another hour they have reined up on its top, 
 and behold the great South Sea, stretching to Car hori- 
 zon's verge, to the limit of their vision. Before them 
 all is azure and beautiful ; only some specks in the 
 dim distance, the lonr isles of the Farralones. More 
 northerly, and not sc far off, the "Seal" rock, and 
 that called de Campana from its arcade hollowed 
 out by the wash of waves, bearing resemblance to the 
 belfry of a church. Nearer, a long line of breakers, 
 foam crested, and, nearer still, the strip of stony beach, 
 hacked bj T a broad reach of sand-dunes, there termed 
 medanos. 
 
 Seated in the saddle, the excursionists contemplate 
 this superb panorama. The four are now together, 
 out soon again separate into pairs, as they have been 
 riding along the road. Somehow or other, their horses 
 have thus disposed them ; that ridden b} T Crozier hav- 
 ing drawn off with the one canying Carmen, while the 
 steed so ill managed by Cadwallader has elected to 
 range itself alongside that of Inez. Perhaps the pair- 
 ing has not been altogether accidental ; whether or 
 no, it is done ; and the conversation, hitherto general, 
 is reduced to the simplicity of dialogue. To report it 
 correctly, it is necessary to take the two pairs apart, 
 giving priority to those who b} r their }'ears have the 
 right to it. Crozier, looking abroad over the ocean, 
 saj-s, " I shall ere long be upon it." He accompanies 
 the speech with a sigh. 
 
 "And I too," rejoins Carmen, in a tone, and with 
 accompaniment singularly similar. 
 
 ' ' How soon do 3'ou think of leaving California ? u 
 queries the young officer. 
 
 " Oh, very soon! My father is already making ar« 
 rangements, and expects we shall go away in a week. 
 
A STOKT OF THE SOUTH SEA. 109 
 
 if not less. Indeed, he has this day been to see about 
 taking passage for us to Panama. That's why he wa? 
 not at home to receive you ; leaving me to do the honors 
 of the house, and apologize for his seeming rudeness." 
 
 For that, certes, no apology was needed ; and Crozier 
 is silent, not knowing what next to say. Love, re- 
 puted eloquent, is often the reverse, and, though open- 
 ing the lips of a landsman, will shut those of men who 
 follow the sea. There is a modesty about the latter 
 unfelt by the former, especially in the presence of 
 women; why, I cannot tell, only knowing, that, as a 
 rule, it is so, and certainly in the case of Edward 
 Crozier. In time he gets over his embarrassment so 
 far as to venture, "I suppose, Doha Carmen, you are 
 very happy at the prospect of returning to Spain ? ' ' 
 
 "No, indeed!" answers Don Gregorio's daughter. 
 •' On the contrary, it makes me rather melancholy. I 
 like California, and could live in it all my life. 
 Couldn't 3*011?" 
 
 " Under certain circumstances, I could." 
 
 " But you like it, don't you? " 
 
 " I do now. In ten days from this time I shall no 
 longer care for it." 
 
 " Why do you say that, Don Eduardo? There's an 
 enigma in 3*0111* words. Please explain them." While 
 asking the question, her gra3*-blue e3*es gaze into his 
 vt ith an expression of searching eagerness, almost 
 anxiety. 
 
 " Shall I tell 3*011 wliy, senorita? " 
 
 " I have asked 3*011, senor." 
 
 "Well, then, I like California now, because it con- 
 tains the fairest object on earth, to me the dearest, 
 since it is the woman I love. In ten days, or less, by 
 Uer own showing, she will be away from it : why should 
 10 
 
110 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 I care for it then? Now, Dona Carmen, I'\e given 
 yon the key to what 3-011 have called an enigma." 
 
 "Not quite. But perhaps yon will pardon a wo- 
 man's curiosity, if I ask the name of the lady who thus 
 controls 3-our likes and dislikes as regard our dea* 
 California." 
 
 Crozier hesitates, a red spot starting out upon his 
 cheek. He is about to pronounce a name, perhaps 
 adding a speech the most important he has ever made 
 in his life, because laden with his life's happiness, or 
 leading to the reverse. What if it should be coldly 
 received? But no : he cannot be mistaken. That ques- 
 tion, asked so quaintly, yet so impressively — surely 
 it courted the answer he intends giving it. And he 
 gives it without further reflection, — her own name, not 
 an added word, " Carmen Montijo." 
 
 " Eduardo," she asks after a pause, dropping the 
 Don, "are you in earnest? Can I take this as true? 
 Do not deceive me ; in honor do not ! To you, and I 
 now tell you, I have surrendered all m} r heart. Say 
 that I have yours ! " 
 
 "I have said it, Carmen," he, too, adopting the 
 familiar language of love. " Have I not? " 
 
 "Sincerely?" 
 
 " Look in m} T eyes for the answer." 
 
 She obeys ; and both, coming closer, gaze into one 
 another's e}-es, the flashes from the blue crossing and 
 commingling with those from the brown. Neither 
 could mistake the meaning of the glance ; for it is the 
 true light of love, pure as passionate. Not another 
 word passes between them. The confession, with its 
 dreaded crisis, is past ; and, with hearts quivering in 
 sweet content, the} r turn their thoughts to the future* 
 full of pleasant promise. 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. Ill 
 
 Near b} r are two other hearts, quite as happy a? 
 theirs, though after a sceue less sentimental, and a 
 dialogue, that, to a stranger overhearing it, might 
 appear spoken in jest. For all, in real earnest, and so 
 ending, as may be inferred from the young Welsh- 
 man's final speech, with the reply of his Andalusian 
 sweetheart: "Inez, you're the dearest girl I've met 
 in all my cruisings. Now, don't let us beat about any 
 longer, but take in sail, and bring the ship to an an- 
 chor. Will you be mine, and many me?" 
 
 "I will." 
 
 No need to stay longer there, no object in continu- 
 ing to s;aze over the ocean. The horses seem instinc- 
 tively to understand this, and, turning together, set 
 heads for home. 
 
 CHAPTER Xni. 
 
 A "golpe de caballo." 
 
 THE bright Californian sun is declining towards 
 the crest of the Coast Range, when two horse- 
 men, coming from the Pacific side, commence ascend- 
 ing the ridge. As the sultry hours have passed, and a 
 chill breeze blows from the outside ocean, they have 
 thrust their heads through the central slits of their 
 cloak3, — these being mangas, — leaving the circular 
 skirts to droop down below their knees, while draping 
 back, cavalry fashion, over the hips of their horses. 
 The colors of these garments — one scarlet, the other 
 sky-blue — enable us to identhy the wearers as Don 
 Franc'.sco de Lara, and Don Faustino Calderon ; [01 
 
112 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 m tiath it is the} r , returning from the pelea de gallos at 
 Punta Pedro. The3 T have seen Diaz, and arranged 
 everything about the duel. Faustino has finally de- 
 termined upon fight. Instigated by his more coura- 
 geous confederate, and with further pressing on the 
 part of Diaz, — a sort of Californian bravo, — his cour- 
 age has been at length screwed up to the necessary 
 pitch, and kept there by the potent spirit of Catalan 
 brandy, found freely circulating around the cock-pit. 
 A flask of this he has brought away with him, at in- 
 tervals taking a pull from it as he rides along the 
 road. Under its influence he has become quite valiant, 
 and swears, that, if he can but again set eyes upon the 
 English guardia-marina, he will affront him in such 
 fashion as to leave him no loophole to escape from 
 being the challenger. Carrai ! he will do as Dc Lara 
 has recommended, — cuff the young officer, kick him, 
 spit in his face, any thing to provoke the gringo to a 
 fight : that yellow-haired cub without a bigote or beard ! 
 And, if the cur won't fight, then he shall apologize ; 
 get down upon his knees, acknowledge him, Faustino 
 Calderon, the better man, and forever after surrender 
 all claim to the smiles, as to the hand, of Inez Alvarez. 
 With this swaggering talk he entertains his compan- 
 ion as the two are returning to town. De Lara, less 
 noisy, is, nevertheless, also excited. The fiery Catalo- 
 nian spirit has affected him too ; not to strengthen 
 his courage, for of tins he has already enough, but to 
 remote the weight from off his soul, which, after the 
 scene at Don Gregorio's, had been pressing heavily 
 upon it. Six hon.s have since elapsed, and for th? 
 . first three he lias been brooding over his humiliation, 
 his spirit prostrate in the dust. But the alcohol ha*> 
 again raised it to a pitch of exaltation, especially 
 
a JST0J1Y OF THE SOUTH SEA. 11 3 
 
 R-hen he reflects upon the prospect of the *ure and 
 speed}' vengeance he is determined to take. It does 
 not occur to him to doubt of success. With thorough 
 reliance on his skill as a swordsman, he feels sure of 
 it. Though, also, a good shot, he prefers the steel for 
 his weapon, like most men of the Southern Latinic 
 race, who believe Northerners to be very bunglers at 
 sword-play, though admitting their superiority in the 
 handling of the pistol. As things stand, unlike his 
 comrade Calderon, he will have the choice of weapons. 
 His intended antagonist was the first to demand the 
 card, and must needs be challenger. 
 
 As the two ride on, they talk alternately, both giv- 
 ing vent to their spleen, the man of courage as the 
 coward. If not so loud or boastingly as his compan- 
 ion, De Lara expresses himself with a more spiteful 
 and earnest determination,, repeating much of what 
 he has already said at an earlier hour, but with added 
 emphasis. Once he has the English officer at his ra- 
 pier's point, he will show him no mere}', but run him 
 through without the slightest compunction. In vain 
 may his adversary cry, " Quarter ! " There can be none 
 conceded, after what has that day passed between 
 them. " Maldita! It shall be a duel to the death ! " 
 he exclaims, after having given way to a series of 
 threats, the words pronounced with an emjiressement 
 that shows him truly, terribly, in earnest. They ha\e 
 been carrying on this excited dialogue as their horses 
 climbed the slope from the Pacific side, its steepness 
 hindering them from going at their usual gait, — a 
 gallop. On rising the ridge's crest, and catching sight 
 of San Francisco, with its newly-painted white walls, 
 and shining roofs, reflected red in the rays of the set- 
 ting sun, De Lara, suddenly remembering the pressure 
 10* 
 
114 THE FLAG OF DISTKESS. 
 
 upon hirn as to time, strikes the spur sharp against his 
 aorse's ribs, and puts the animal to speed. The olhei 
 imitating his example, they dash on towards Dolores. 
 The}' have no intention to make stop at the Mission. 
 But, on reaching it, the}' draw up, obedient to the hail 
 of a man seen standing in the door of a little tavern, 
 or tinacal, frequented by the lower class of native Cali- 
 fornians, — a rough, swarthy-skinned fellow, in a garb 
 that proclaims his calling to have connection with the 
 sea, though not that of a sailor. He ma} T be a shore 
 boatman, perhaps a pescador ; though judging by his 
 general appearance, and the sinister cast of his coun- 
 tenance, he might well pass for a pirate. 
 
 Stepping a few paces out from the tinacal, he salutes 
 the two horsemen, who have halted in the middle of 
 the road to await his approach. Despite his coarse, 
 brutal aspect, and common habiliments, he is evidently 
 on terms of familiarity with both ; the st}de of his salu- 
 tation showing it. It is with De Lara, however, his 
 business lies, as signified by his saying, "I want a 
 tvord with 3*011, Don Francisco." 
 
 " What is it, Rocas ? Airy thing about seal-skins ? " 
 asks tne Creole, laying a significant emphasis on the 
 last word. 
 
 ' ' Carramba ! No : something of more importance 
 than that." 
 
 "Money, then?" 
 
 1 'Money." 
 i " Do you wish our speech to be private? " 
 
 "Just now, 3'es. Perhaps, in time, Don Faus- 
 tino" — 
 
 "Oh!" interrupts the ganadero, "don't let me 
 stand in the way. I'll ride slowly on : you can over* 
 take me, Don Francisco." 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. HE 
 
 " Do," says De Lara, at the same time stooping 
 down in his saddle, and continuing the conversation 
 with Rocas, in tone so low as to prevent their speech 
 being overheard by two queer-looking customers, who 
 have just stepped out of the tinacal, and stand loiter 
 ing at its door. 
 
 Whatever Rocas may have said, it appears to make 
 a vivid impression on the gambler. His eyes kindle 
 up with a strange light, in which surprise is succeeded 
 by an expression of cupidity ; while his manner pro- 
 claims that the revelation made to him is not only 
 important, as he has been forewarned, but also very 
 pleasing. Their muttered dialogue is of brief dura- 
 tion, but ends with a speech which shows it to be only 
 preliminary to a further conference. 
 
 " I shall be with you to-morrow, by mid-day." 
 
 It is De Lara who has said this ; after which, adding, 
 " Actios, Don Rafael! Uasta maTiana!" he gives 
 his horse the spur, and gallops to overtake his travel- 
 ling-companion ; Rocas sauntering back towards the 
 tavern. 
 
 On coming up with the ganadero, De Lara rides on 
 silently by his side, without showing any desire to sat- 
 isfy Calderon's curiosity. He but piques it by saying 
 that Rocas has made a communication of an intensely 
 interesting kind, which he will impart to him, Faus- 
 tino, in due time ; but now there are other matters of 
 quite as much importance to be attended to. The 
 fighting is before them ; and that cannot be set aside. 
 Calderon wishes it could ; for the flask has been some 
 time forgotten, and the spirit has been getting cold 
 within him. 
 
 " Take another pull," counsels his companion : "you 
 may need it. We'll soon be in the town, and perhaps 
 
116 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 the first man we meet will be your yellow - haired 
 rival." 
 
 Scarcely have the words passed De Lara's lips, when 
 something in front fixes their attention. At some dis- 
 tance along the road, a clcud of dust is ascending ; in 
 its midst a darker nucleus, distinguishable as the forms 
 of horses with riders on their backs. There appear to 
 be four of them, filed two and two. Plying their spurs, 
 and galloping closer, the gamblers perceive that thi9 
 equestrian party is proceeding in the same direction as 
 themselves, — towards the town. But they are soon 
 near enough to know that such is not their destina- 
 tion ; for, despite the enshrouding dust, they have no 
 difficulty in identifying those who are before them. 
 The horses are the same seen that morning, saddled 
 and bridled, in front of Don Gregorio's house. Two 
 of the riders are Carmen Montijo and Iliez Alvarez : 
 the other two — At this point conjecture terminates. 
 De Lara, certain, and no longer able to control him- 
 self, cries out, " Carajo! it's they returning from their 
 excursion ; paired off as I supposed they would be. 
 Now, Calderon, you have your chance — sooner than 
 you expected — and without seeking; a lucky omen. 
 There's your rival riding by the side of your sweet- 
 heart, and pouring soft speech into her ear. Now's 
 your time to set things straight : insult him to your 
 heart's content. I feel like giving fresh affront to 
 mine." 
 
 He draws rein, bringing his horse to a halt. Cal- 
 deron does the same. Scanning the equestrians ahead, 
 they see them two and two, the pairs some ten or 
 twelve paces apart. Crozier and Carmen are in the 
 advance; Cadwallader and Inez behind. De Lara 
 looks no*-, at the latter couple : his e3 T es are all upon 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 117 
 
 ihe fomier, staring with fixed intensity, full of jealous 
 fiie, with a glare such as only a tiger might give, as he 
 sees Carmen turn towards her escorting cavalier, and 
 bend over, he to her, till their heads are close together 
 and their lips seem to meet. 
 
 " Carrail the}* are kissing! " exclaims the Creole, 
 in a tone of bitter exasperation. He can bear it no 
 longer. With a shout, half angiy, half anguished, he 
 digs his spur deep, and dashes forward. 
 
 The clattering of hoofs behind first warns Cadwalla- 
 der, who is nearest to the noise ; for, up to this time, 
 the lovers, absorbed in sweet converse, dream not of 
 danger behind. The young Welshman, glancing back, 
 sees what it is, at the same time hears De Lara's wild 
 cry. Intuitively he understands that some outrage is 
 intended, — a repetition of the morning's work, with, 
 doubtless, something more. Quickly he draws his dirk, 
 not now to be used in sport, for the mere pricking a 
 horse, but in earnest, to be buried in the boVly of a 
 man, if need be. This resolve can be read in his atti- 
 tude, in his eyes, in his features ; these no longer 
 bent in a laugh of reckless boyhood, but in the rigid, 
 resolute determination of manhood. Badly as he sits 
 his horse, it will not do now to dash against him. The 
 collision might cost life, in all likelihood, that of the 
 aggressor 
 
 De Lara sweeps past him without a word, without 
 even taking notice of him. His affair is with one far- 
 ther on. 
 
 But now Calderon is coming up, clearly with the 
 intent to assault, as shown in his eyes. Suddenly, how- 
 ever, their expression changes at sight of the bared 
 blade, — that diabolical dirk. Despite the pull he has 
 just taken from the flask, his courage fails him ; and 
 
118 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 crestfallen, as a knight compelled to lower his plume 
 he, too, passes Cadwallader, without a word, riding on 
 after De Lara. He overtakes the latter in time to be 
 spectator of a scene in its commencement somewhat 
 similar to that enacted by himself, but with very differ- 
 ent termination. 
 
 Crozier, whose ear has also caught the sounds from 
 behind, draws bridle, and looks back. He sees De 
 Lara making towards him, and, at a glance, divines 
 the intent. It is a golpe de caballo, or collision of 
 horses, — a common mode of assault among Spanish 
 Californians. Instead of turning aside to avoid it, he 
 of Shropshire determines on a different course. He 
 knows he is upon a strong horse, and feels confident he 
 can sta} T there. With this confidence, he faces towards 
 the advancing enemy, and, after taking true bearing, 
 spurs straight at him. Breast to breast the horses 
 meet; shoulder to shoulder the men. Not a word 
 between these themselves, both too maddened to speak. 
 Only a cry from Carmen Montijo, a shriek from Inez 
 Alvarez, heard simultaneously with the shock. When 
 it is over, Don Francisco de Lara is seen rolling upon 
 the road, his horse kicking and floundering in the 
 dust beside him. Regaining his feet, the Californian 
 rushes to get hold of a pistol, whose butt protrudes 
 from his saddle-holster. He is too late : Cadwallader 
 has come up, and dropping down out of his saddle, 
 as if from a ship's shrouds, makes himself master of 
 the weapon and its companion. Disarmed, his glitter- 
 ing attire dust-bedaubed, De Lara stands in the middle 
 of the road, irresolute, discomfited, conquered. He 
 can do nothing now, save storm and threaten, iuter- 
 larding his threats with curses — " Carajos! " — spite- 
 fully pronounced. 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 119 
 
 The ladies, at Crazier' s request, have ridden on 
 ahead, so that their ears are not offended. 
 
 After listening to the ebullition of his impotent 
 spleen, — Cadwallader all the while loucuy laughing at 
 it, — Crazier, in serious tone, says, " Mr. De Lara, — 
 for your card tells me that is your name, — take a sail- 
 or's advice : go quietly to your quarters ; stow yourself 
 out of sight ; and stay there till your temper cools 
 down. We don't want you to walk. You shall have 
 3'our horse, though not your shooting-irons. These I 
 shall take care of myself, and may return them to you 
 when next we meet. — The same advice to 3*011, sir," 
 he adds, addressing Calderon, who stands near, equally 
 cowed and crestfallen. 
 
 After dictating these humiliating conditions, — which, 
 nolens, volens, the defeated bravos are obliged to accept, 
 — the young officers remount their horses, and trot off 
 to rejoin the ladies. 
 
 Having overtaken these, the}* continue their home- 
 ward ride, with no fear of its being again interrupted 
 by a golpe de caballo. 
 
 
120 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 " HAST A CADIZ ! " 
 
 ON leaving Capt. Lantanas, Don Gregorio returns 
 to his house, though not direct. He has busi- 
 ness to transact in the town, which sta}'s him. He has 
 to see Don Tomas Silvestre, the shipping- agent, and 
 give directions about inserting the advertisement for 
 sailors. That is an affair that will occupy only a few 
 minutes. But he has another with the agent, of a more 
 important kind. lie is intimately acquainted with 
 Silvestre, who is, like himself, a Peninsular Spaniard, 
 and a Bisca}'an. Don Gregorio knows he can trust 
 him, and does, telling him all he has told Lantanas, 
 making further known the arrangement he has entered 
 into for passages to Panama, and instructing him to 
 assist the Chilian skipper in procuring a crew. The 
 more confidential matter relates to the shipment of his 
 gold-dust. He trembles to think of the risk he runs 
 of losing it. San Francisco is filled with queer char- 
 acters, — men who would stick at nothing. Don Tomas 
 knows this without being told. The thought haunts 
 the haciendado like a spectre, that he will have hia 
 treasure taken from him by theft, burglary, or bold, 
 open robbery. He has good reason for so thinking. 
 Among the latest accessions to the population of San 
 Francisco all three classes of criminals are represented, 
 and in no stinted numbers. There are ticket-of-leave 
 men from Australia, jail-birds from the penitentiaries 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 121 
 
 of liie States, ' scape- the-gallows customers from every 
 quarter of the globe, to say nothing of the native ban- 
 dits, of which California has its share. If known to 
 these that gold-dust to the value of three hundred 
 thousand dollars was lying unguarded in the house of 
 Don Gregorio Montijo, it would not be there many 
 daj*s or nights. Its owner has done what he could to 
 keep it a secret ; but the sale and transfer of his land 
 have leaked out, as, also, the handsome price obtained 
 and paid over to him : hence the natural inference 
 oeing that the cash must be deposited somewhere. And 
 every one well knows it must be in gold-dust, since 
 banks have not yet been established, and there are not 
 obtainable notes enough in San Francisco to cover a 
 tenth part of the amount. He has tried to convert it 
 thus, — as more convenient for carriage and safety, — 
 but failed. In line, after confiding his fears to Silves- 
 tre, and taking counsel from him, he decides upon the 
 plan — already in part communicated to Capt. Lantanas 
 — of having the endangered gold-dust secretly con- 
 veyed to the "Condor" as soon as possible. Don 
 Tomas will provide the boat, with a trust}' sailor-servant 
 he has attached to his establishment, to assist in the 
 removal and rowing. They can take it aboard without 
 passing through the town, or at all touching at the port. 
 The boat can be brought to the beach below Don Gre- 
 gorio' s house, and the gold quietly carried down to :t. 
 Thence they can transport it direct to the ship. Once 
 there, Lantanas will know how to dispose of it = and 
 surely it will be safe in his custody : at all events, safer 
 there than anywhere else in San Francisco. So thinks 
 Don Gregorio, the ship-agent agreeing with him. 
 
 Soon every thing is settled ; for they spend not 
 many minutes in discussing the matter. The h :icien* 
 n 
 
122 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 dado knows that by this time his house will be empty, 
 excepting the servants ; for the ride on which his girls 
 have gone was arranged by himself to gratify his 
 expected visitors. He thinks apprehensively of the 
 unprotected treasure, and longs to be beside it. So, 
 remounting the stout horse that brought him to town, 
 he rides hastily home. 
 
 On arrival there, he retires to his sleeping-apartment, 
 where he spends the remainder of the day, and gives 
 orders not to be called till the party of equestrians 
 come back. But, although confining himself to the 
 chamber, he does not go to bed, nor otherwise take 
 repose. On the contrary, he is busy throughout the 
 whole afternoon, getting ready his treasure for the 
 surreptitious transport ; for it is there in the room — 
 has been, ever since it came into his possession. Almost 
 fearing to trust it out of his sight, he sleeps beside it. 
 Some of it is in bags, some in boxes ; and he now 
 re-arranges it in the most convenient form for carriage 
 to the "Condor," and safe stowage in her cabin- 
 iockers. 
 
 He has not j T et completed his task when he hears 
 the trampling of hoofs on the gravelled sweep outside. 
 The riding-party has returned. The saguan-bell rings ; 
 the heavy door grates back on its hinges ; and soon 
 after the horses, with the riders still on their backs, 
 stand panting in the patio. 
 
 The master of the house sallies forth to receive his 
 guests. He sees them hastening to assist the ladies 
 in dismounting. But, before either cavalier can come 
 near them, both leap lightly out of their saddles, and, 
 gliding into the corridor, fling their arms around Don 
 Gregorio's neck; daughter and grand- daughter alike 
 styling him " papa." They are effusively affectionate. 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 123 
 
 r^oiv; than usually so; for this night both have ft 
 favor to .ask of him. And he knows, or can gues3, 
 what it is. He has not been blind to what ha? been 
 passing between them and the young English officers 
 He suspects that vows have been exchanged, a double 
 proposal made ; and anticipates a demand upon him- 
 self to sanction it. In both cases, he is prepared to 
 do so ; for he is not unacquainted with the character 
 and social standing of those seeking an alliance with 
 him. He has been aboard the British frigate, and from 
 Capt. Bracebridge obtained information on these points, 
 satisfactoiy in ever}' sense. Both the young officers 
 bear an excellent character. Though differing in other 
 respects, they are alike skilled in their profession ; 
 each " eveiy inch a seaman," as their commander 
 worded it. Besides, both are of good family ; Cad- 
 wallader moderately rich, Crozier in prospect of great 
 wealth ; either of them fit mate for the proudest senora 
 in Spain. His reason for supposing that on this day 
 engagements have been entered into, is, that the 3'oung 
 officers are about to take departure from the port. The 
 " Crusader" is under admiralty orders to sail for the 
 Sandwich Islands as soon as a corvette coming thence 
 reaches San Francisco. Capt. Bracebridge has been 
 commissioned b}' the British Government to transact 
 some diplomatic business with King Kame-Kameha ; 
 that done, he is to look in at Mazatlan, Aoapulco, and 
 some other Mexican ports, as also Panama and Callao ; 
 then home ; afterwards to join the Mediterranean 
 squadron. As the " Crusader," on her way to the 
 Mediterranean, will surely call at Cadiz, the vows this 
 day exchanged on the shore of the Pacific can be con- 
 veniently renewed on the other side of the Atlantic. 
 At dinner, — which is served soon after, and in sump- 
 
124 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 tuous style, — Don Gregorio makes his guests aware of 
 the fact that he has secured passages for Panama, and 
 inay leave San Francisco as soon as they. He confides 
 to them the secret of his having chartered the Chilian 
 ship ; in short, telling them all he has told her skip- 
 per, echoing the lament made by the latter about his 
 difficulty in obtaining a crew. 
 
 "Perhaps," rejoins Crozier, after hearing this, "I 
 can help him to at least one good sailor. Do you 
 think, Will," Ire continues, addressing himself to the 
 young Welshman, " that Harry Blew is still in San 
 Francisco? Or has he gone off to the diggings? " 
 
 " I fancy he's still here," responds Cadwallader. 
 " He was aboard the 'Crusader' only the da}' before 
 yesterday, having a shake hands with his old com- 
 rades of the forecastle." 
 
 " Who is the Senor Bloo? " asks the haciendado. 
 
 " A true British tar, — if you know what that means, 
 Don Gregorio, — lately belonging to our ship, and one 
 of the best sailors on her books. He's off them now, 
 as his time was out ; and, like man}' another though not 
 better man, has made up his mind to go gold-seeking 
 on the Sacramento, Still, if he be not gone, I think I 
 might persuade him to bear a hand on the craft you 
 speak of. It was once Harry's sinister luck to slip 
 overboard in the harbor of Guaymas, dropping almost 
 into the jaws of a tintorero shark, and my good for- 
 tune to be able to rescue him out of his perilous plight. 
 He's not the man to be ungrateful ; and, if still in San 
 Francisco, I think you may count upon him for taking 
 service on board the Chilian ship. True, he's only 
 one, but worth two ; ay, ten. He not only knows a 
 ship, but, on a pinch, could take a lunar, and make good 
 an}- port in the Pacific." 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SE/' . 125 
 
 u A most valuable man ! " exclaims -Dot/. Gre^orio : 
 u would be worth his weight in gold to Capt. Lanta- 
 nas. I'm sure the Chilian skipper would at once make 
 him his mate. Do }'OU suppose }~ou can find him? " 
 
 " If in San Francisco, 3*es. We shall search for 
 him this very night, and, if found, send him either to 
 the Chilian skipper, or to the ship-agent you've spoken 
 of, — Silvestre. By the way, what's his address? " 
 
 "Here," answers Don Gregorio, drawing forth a 
 card, and handing it across the table co Crozier. 
 "That's the place where Don Toinas transacts busi- 
 ness. It's but a poor little shed on the raoic, near 
 the new pier, lately constructed. Indeed, 1 jcheve he 
 sleeps thieve ; house-rent being at pxeseut something 
 fabulous." 
 
 "This will do," says Crozier, putting Lhe card into 
 his pocket. " If Harry Blew can be lound, he'll not 
 be far from Silvestre's office, if not lo-night, by early 
 daybreak to-morrow morning." 
 
 It is not the custom of either Spaniards or Spanish 
 Americans to tarry long over the dinner-table. The 
 cloth once removed, and the ladies gone, a glass or two 
 of Port, Xeres, or Pedro Ximenez, and the gentlemen 
 also retire ; not for business, but recreation out of 
 doors, so pleasant in southern climes. 
 
 Dona Carmen with her niece have ascended to the 
 azotea to enjoy the sweet twilight of a Calif ornian 
 summer, whither they are soon followed b} r Crozier 
 and Cadwallader. The master of the house has for a 
 time parted with them, under the excuse of having affairs 
 to attend to. It is to complete the packing of his gold- 
 dust. But, while emptying their last glass together, 
 he has been approached b} T the young officers on thai 
 11* 
 
126 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 subject uppermost in their thoughts, and dearest to 
 their hearts ; aske"d if he be agreeable to become the 
 futher-in-law of one, and the — Cadwallader had diffi- 
 culty in finding a word for it — grandfather-in-law of 
 the other. To both he has given the same answer, 
 " Yes." No wonder, that, with bright faces and bound- 
 ing step, thev spring up to the housetop, there to rejoin 
 the senoritas. 
 
 Their tale told to the latter — who have been await- 
 ing them in anxious expectation — will save both a 
 world of confusion and blushes. No need now for them 
 to talk to "papa." His consent has been obtained : 
 they are aware he will keep his word. 
 
 Again the four, now formally betrothed, separate into 
 twos, taking opposite sides of the azotea. The}^ con- 
 verse about the far future, — that awaiting them at 
 Cadiz. But the ladies cannot overlook or forget some 
 perils more proximate. The retrospect of the day 
 throws a shadow over the morrow. The encounter 
 with De Lara and Calcleron cannot end without further 
 action. Not likely ; and both aunt and niece recall it, 
 questioning their now affianced lovers, adjuring them 
 to refrain from fighting. These repty, making light of 
 the matter, — declaring confidence in their own strength 
 and skill, whatever be the upshot, — so assuring to 
 their sweethearts, that both believe them invincible, in- 
 vulnerable. What woman is there who does not think 
 the same of him who holds her heart ? 
 
 Time passes : the last moments speed silently in 
 the old, old ecstasy of all-aosorbing, tale-telling love. 
 
 Then the inevitable " Adios!" thousrh sounding 
 less harshly by favor of the added phrase, " Hasta 
 Cadiz I" [" Till we meet at Cadiz ! "] 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 127 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 ON PLEASURE BENT. 
 
 TT1HE clocks of San Francisco are striking the hour 
 JL of ten. The moon has shot up over Monte Di- 
 ablo, and sends her soft, mellow beams across the waters 
 of the bay, imparting to their placid surface the sheen 
 of silver. The forms of the ships anchored upon it 
 are reflected as from a mirror, with masts upside down, 
 every spar, sta}~, and brace, even to the most delicate 
 rope of their rigging, having its duplicated representa- 
 tive in the fictitious counterfeit beneath. On none is 
 there any canvas spread ; and the unfurled flags do not 
 displa}" their fields, but hang motionless along masts, 
 or droop dead down over tafFrails. Stillness almost 
 complete reigns throughout ; scarce a sound proceeding 
 either from the ships inshore, or those that ride at an- 
 chor in the offing, — not even the rattle of a chain drop- 
 ping or heaving an anchor, the chant of a night-watch 
 at the windlass, or the song of some jovial tar entertain- 
 ing his messmates as they sit squatted around the fore- 
 castle stair. Unusual this silence at such an early hour, 
 though easily accounted for. That there are but few 
 noises from the ships in San Francisco Bay is ex- 
 plained by the fact of their having but few men to 
 make them ; in many cases there being not a single 
 kouI aboard. All have deserted, — either for good, and 
 are gone off to the " digging ; " or only for the night, 
 to take part i * the pleasures and dissipations of the 
 
123 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 town. Now and then a boat may be seen patting on* 
 from 01 returning to the side of some of those bettei 
 manned, by its laborious movement, and the unmeas- 
 ured stroke of oars, telling that even it lacks a full 
 complement of crew. 
 
 Inside the town every thing is clifFerent. There, 
 there are noises enough, with plenty of people, crowded 
 streets, flashing lights, and a Babel-like confusion of 
 voices. It is now the hour when iniquity has com- 
 menced its nightly career, or, rather, reached its full 
 flush ; since in San Francisco certain kinds of it are 
 carried on openly, and throughout all the hours of day. 
 Business-houses are closed ; but these are in small 
 proportion to the places of pleasure, which keep their 
 doors and windows wide open, and where dissipation 
 of all kinds reigns paramount. Into the gambling- 
 saloons go men laden with gold-dust, often coming out 
 with their wallets lighter than when the3 T went in, but 
 their hearts a great deal heavier. After toiling for 
 months up to their middle in the chill waters of streams 
 that course down from the eternal snows of the Sierra 
 Nevada, working, washing, while so occupied, half 
 starving, they return to San Francisco to scatter in a 
 single night — oft in one hour — the hoarded gather- 
 ngs of half a year. 
 
 Into this pandemonium of a city are about to enter 
 two personages of very different appearance from those 
 usually seen loitering in its saloons, or hastening through 
 its streets ; for the} T are the 3'oung officers belonging to 
 the British frigate, — Edward Crozier and William Cad- 
 wallader, — returning to their ship ; not directly, as 
 they were rowed ashore, but through the town ; Crozier 
 having ordered the boat to be brought to one of the 
 tough wooden wharves recently erected. They ar$ 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 129 
 
 advancing along the shore-road afoot, having declined 
 their host's offer of horses, both saying they would 
 prefer to walk ; Cadwallader adding, in sailor phrase, 
 that he wished to " kick the knots out of his legs," — ■ 
 a remark but obscurely comprehensible to Don Gre 
 gorio. For some time after leaving his house, not a 
 word passes between them. Each is occupied with his 
 own thoughts, the sacredness of which keeps him 
 silent, absorbed in reflections springing from that ten- 
 der but painful parting with others, about what may 
 be before them in the far uncertain future. For a time 
 nothing intrudes upon their revery, to disturb its nat- 
 ural course. The sough of the tidal surf breaking 
 upon the beach, the occasional cry of a straying sea- 
 bird, or the more continuous and monotonous note of 
 the chuck- will's- widow, do not attract their attention. 
 The}' are sounds in consonance with their reflections, 
 still a little sad. As they draw nearer to the city, see 
 its flashing lights, and hear its hum of voces, other 
 and less doleful ideas come uppermost, leading to con- 
 versation. Crozier commences it. 
 
 " Well, Will, old fellow, we've made a day of it ! " 
 
 " That we have, a rousing jolly day ! I don't thini 
 I ever enjoyed one more in my life." 
 
 " Only for its drawbacks? " 
 
 "You mean our affair with those fellows? Why, 
 that was the best part of it, so far as fun. To see the 
 one in the sky-blue wrap, after I'd dirked his horse, 
 go off like a ship in a gale, with nobody at the helm ! 
 By Jove ! it ^as equal to old Billy Button in the cir- 
 cus. And then the other you bundled over in the road, 
 as he got up, looking like a clog just out of a dust-bin. 
 Oh! 'twas delicious; the best shore-adventure I've 
 had since joining the ' Crusader,' — something to talk 
 about when we get aboard." 
 
130 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 " Ay. and something to do besides talking. We'vi 
 got a little writing to do : at least, I have, — a bit of a 
 letter to this swaggerer, Mr. Francisco de Lara." 
 
 " But surely you don't intend challenging him, afte? 
 what's happened? " 
 
 " Surely I do. Though, to say the truth, I've no 
 great stomach for it, seeing the sort he is. It's infra 
 dig. having to fight one's inferior, though it be with 
 swords or pistols. It feels like getting into a row with 
 roughs in some slum of a seaport." 
 
 "You're right there; and, as to calling this fellow 
 out, I'd do nothing of the kind, Ned. He's a bad lot : 
 so is the* other. Blackguards both, as their behavior 
 has shown them: they don't deserve to be treated as 
 gentlemen." 
 
 "But we're in California, Will, where the code of 
 the duel takes in such as they. I suppose even here 
 thieves and cut-throats talk about protecting their 
 honor, as the}* term it ; ay, and often act up to their 
 talk. I've been told of a duel that took place, not 
 long since, between two professional gamblers, in which 
 one of them was shot dead in his tracks. And only 
 the other day a judge was called out by a man he had 
 tried, and convicted of some misdemeanor, who not 
 only went, but actually killed the fellow who'd stood 
 before him as a criminal. All that seems very absurd ; 
 hut so it is. And if this scarlet-cloaked cavalier don't 
 slow the white-feather, and back out, I'll either have 
 10 kill or cripple him ; though, like enough, he may do 
 one or the other for me." 
 
 "But don't you think, Ned, you've had enough out 
 of him? " 
 
 " In what way? " 
 
 " Why, in the way of revanche: for nry part, I 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 131 
 
 should decidedly say you had far the best of it. A ftei 
 your first encounter in the morning, I thought differ- 
 ently, and would have so counselled you. Then the 
 insult offered you was unpunished. The other has put 
 a different face on the affair ; and, now that he's got 
 more than he gave, I think you should rest satisfied, 
 and let things stand as they are, if he do. Certainly, 
 after that knock and tumble, it's his place to sing out." 
 
 ''There's something in what you say, Will. And 
 now, on reflection, I'm not so sure that I'll take further 
 trouble about the fellow, unless he insist on it, which 
 he may not, seeing he's unquestionably base coin, — as 
 you say, a blackguard. He appears a sort of Califor- 
 nian bravo ; and, if we hadn't secured his pistols, I 
 suppose he'd have done some shooting with them. 
 Well, we'll see whether he comes to reclaim them. If 
 he don't, I shall have to send them to him. Other- 
 wise, he may have us up before one of these duelling 
 justices on a charge of robbing him. 
 
 " Ha, ha, ha ! That would be a rare joke, an ap- 
 propriate ending to our day's fun." 
 
 "Quite the contrary. It might be serious, if it 
 should reach the ears of Bracebridge. The old disci- 
 plinarian would never believe but that we'd been in 
 the wrong, taken the fellow's pistols from him for a 
 lark, or something of the sort. True, we could have 
 the thing explained, both to the San Franciscan magis- 
 trate, and the frigate's captain, but not without an 
 exposure of names and circumstances, that, though it 
 might be appropriate enough, would be any thing but 
 a pleasant finale to our day's fun, as you call it." 
 
 " Wall, I know what will," rejoins Cadwallader, 
 after listening patiently to his comrade's explanatory 
 speech ; " and that's a glass of something good. Those 
 
132 THE FLAG OF DISTKESS. 
 
 sweet Spanish wines of Don Gregorio have made m« 
 thirsty as a fish. Besides, parting with my dear Inez 
 has got my heart down ; and I need something to get it 
 up again." 
 
 " All right, my hearty ! " exclaims Crozier, for the 
 jest's sake, talking sailor-slang. " I'm with you in 
 that way. For this day, at least, we've had enough of 
 ■war: therefore let's end it with another w, — wine." 
 
 "For m}' part," responds the young Welshman, 
 "I'd prefer a different article, which has the other w 
 for its initial letter : that's whiskey. If we could only 
 get a glass of good Scotch or Irish malt in this mush- 
 room city, it would make a new man of me ; which 
 just now I need making. As I tell you, Ned, my 
 heart's down — dead down to the heels of nry boots. 
 I can't say why, but there it is ; and there, I suppose, 
 it'll stay, unless Dutch courage comes to the rescue." 
 
 " Well, you'll soon have an opportunity of getting 
 that. As you see, we're in the suburbs of this grand 
 city, partly constructed of canvas, where, though food 
 may be scarce, and raiment scanty, there's liquor in 
 abundance. In the Parker House, which is, I believe, 
 its best hotel, we'll be sure of finding almost every 
 beverage brewed upon the earth, among them your 
 favorite whiskey, and mine, — ' Bass's Bitter.' " 
 
 "Again the Spanish saw, ' Cada urio a sa gusto,' 
 as just now my sweetheart said. But let us step out." 
 
 " Don't be in such hot haste. You forget we've 
 something to do, which must be done first, — before 
 every thing else." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "Look up Harry Blew; find him, if we can, and 
 coax him tc take service in this Chilian ship." 
 
 " He won't require much coaxing, once you say tbt» 
 
A STORY OF THE SOOTH SEA. 133 
 
 word. The old salt is any thing but ungrateful In- 
 deed, his regard for you, ever since you saved him 
 from that shark, is more like real gratitude than any 
 thing I ever saw. He fairly worships you, Ned. He 
 (old me the day before he left the ' Crusader,' that 
 parting with } T ou was the only thing that greatly 
 grieved him. I saw the tears trickling down his 
 cheeks as you shook hands with him over the side. 
 Even then, if 3-ou'd said stay, I believe he'd have 
 turned back into his old berth." 
 
 " 1 didn't because I wished him to do better. You 
 know he'd have a splendid chance here in California to 
 get rich by gold-digging, which no doubt he might, like 
 a great many other humble sailors as himself. But now 
 this other chance has turned up in his favor, which I 
 should say is surer. Don Gregorio has told us he can 
 get from the Chilian captain almost an}' pay he may 
 please to ask, besides a fair likelihood of being made 
 his first mate. That would suit Harry to a hair, be- 
 sides, in my opinion, answering his purpose, far better 
 than any gold-seeking speculation. Though a man of 
 first rating aboard ship, he's a mere child when ashore, 
 and would be no more able to protect himself against 
 the land-sharks of San Francisco than he was to get out 
 of the way of that sea- skimmer at Guaymas. Even if 
 he should succeed in growing rich up the rivers, I'd 
 lay large odds he'd be back here in port, and poor as 
 ev r er, within a week. We must save him from that, if 
 we can. His natural element is the ocean. He has 
 spent the greater part of his life on it ; and here's a fine 
 opportunity for him to return to and stay upon it — for 
 life, if he likes, with better prospects than he could 
 even have had on board a man-o'-war. The question 
 is, how we shall be able to find him in this rookery of a 
 12 
 
134 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 place. Did he say any thing, when you saw him, about 
 where he was sojourning? " 
 
 " By Jove ! he just did. Now I recall our conver- 
 sation, 1 remember him telling me that he was sta}*ing 
 at a sort of boarding-house, or restaurant, ca.led the 
 ' Saikr's Home ; ' though he made no mention of the 
 street. But, if I mistake not, I know the place, and 
 can steer pretty straight for it." 
 
 " Straight or crooked, let's set head for it at once. 
 We've plenty of time, if that were all ; for I told the 
 cockswain not to come for us till well after eleven. I 
 want to see something of this queer Californian life, of 
 which I haven't had much experience yet." 
 
 " The same with myself." 
 
 " Well, we may never again get such a chance. In- 
 deed, it's not likely we shall either of us be allowed 
 another night ashore before the ' Crusader ' sails : there- 
 fore, let us make hay while the sun shines, or, to speak 
 less figuratively, a little merriment by the light of the 
 moon. We've been either savage or sentimental all 
 the day, and stand in need of changing our tune." 
 
 " You're right about that ; but the music is not like- 
 ly to be made by moonlight — not much of it. See 
 those great clouds rolling up }'onder ! They'll be over 
 the sky in ten minutes' time, making every thing black 
 as a pot of pitch." 
 
 " No matter. For what we want, gas-light will serve 
 hs well; and there's plenty of that in San Francisco. 
 Jsow for Harry Blew; after him, whiskey punches at 
 the Parker." 
 
 "And -iter that?" 
 
 " The tables, if you feel so inclined." 
 
 44 Surely, Ned, you don't want to go gambling? " 
 
 4 * I want to see life in San Francisco, a<i I've said ; 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 135 
 
 and, as 30U know, gambling's an important part of it. 
 Yes ; I don't mind making an attempt to draw the 
 teeth of the tiger. Allons I or, as I should say in the 
 softer language of Andalusia, Nos vamos f " 
 
 Thus jocosely terminating the conversation, the 
 young officers continue on at increased speed, and are 
 soon threading the streets of San Francisco in search 
 of the Sailor's Home. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 A TAR OF THE OLDEN TTPE. 
 
 HARRY BLEW is a tar of the true man-o'-war 
 type, this of the olden time, when sailors were 
 sailors, and ships were of oak, not iron. Such ships 
 aie scarce now ; but scarcer still the skilled men who 
 handled their ropes, and kept every thing ta.ut and trim : 
 in short, the true sailors. Than Harry, a finer speci- 
 men of the foremast-man never reefed topsail, or took 
 his glass of grog according to allowance. Of dark 
 complexion naturally, exposure to sun, sea, and storm, 
 has deepened it, till his cheeks and throat are almost 
 copper-colored ; of somewhat lighter tint on Sundays, 
 after they have had their hebdomadal shave. His face 
 '.s round, with features fairty regular, and of a cheerful 
 cast, their cheerfulness heightened b}* the sparkle 
 of bright gray eyes, and two rows of sound white 
 teeth, frequently, if not continuously, set in a smile. 
 A thick shock of curling brown hair, with a well- 
 greased ringlet drooping down over each eyeoiow. 
 
136 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 supports a round-rimmed, blue-ribboned hat, set we/ 
 aback on his head. His shaven chin is pointed and 
 prominent, with a dimple below the lip ; while the 
 beardless jaws curve smoothly down to a well-shaped 
 neck, symmetrically set upon broad shoulders, that 
 give token of strength almost herculean. Notwith- 
 standing an amplitude of shirt-collar which falls back 
 full seven inches, touching the shoulder-tips, the throat 
 and a portion of the expansive chest are habitually 
 exposed to view ; while on the sun-browned skin of the 
 latter may be seen a tattooed anchor. By its side, not 
 so plainly exposed, is the figure of a damsel done 
 in dark blue, — no doubt a souvenir, if not the exact 
 similitude, of a sweetheart, — some Poll of past time, 
 or perhaps far-off port. But there is a doubt whether 
 Harry's heart has been true to her. Indeed, a sus- 
 picion of its having been false cannot fail to strike any 
 one seeing him with his shirt-sleeves rolled up ; since 
 upon the flat of his right fore-arm is the image of 
 another damsel, done more recently, in lighter blue; 
 while on the left is a Cupid holding an unbent bow, 
 and hovering above a pair of hearts his arrow has just 
 pierced, impaling them through and through. All 
 those amorous emblems would seem to argue our true 
 tar inconstant as the wind with which he has so often 
 to contend. But no, nothing of the kind. Those well 
 acquainted with him and his history can vouch for it 
 that he has never had a sweetheart, save one, — she 
 represented in that limning of light blue ; and tc her 
 was he true as steel up to the hour of her death, 
 which occurred just as she was about to become Mrs. 
 Blew, And that sad event has kept him a bachelor up 
 to the present hour of his life. The girl on his breast 
 m dark blue is a merely mythical personage, though 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 131 
 
 indelibly stained into his skin by a needle's point and 
 a pinch of gunpowder, done by one of his man-o'-wai 
 shipmates while he was still only a sailor-lad. He is 
 now fort}' 3'ears of age, nearly thirty of which Zie haa 
 passed upon the sea ; being off it only in short spells, 
 while his ship has been in port. And he has seen ser- 
 vice on several ships, — corvettes, frigates, double and 
 treble deckers, — all men-of-war, in which he has 
 thrice circumnavigated the globe. For all, he is yet 
 hale, hearty, and in the perfect plenitude of his 
 strength, only with a slight stoop in the shoulders, as 
 if caught from continually swarming up shrouds, or 
 leaning over the yard while stowing sails. This gives 
 him the appearance of being shorter than he really is ; 
 for when straightened up, with back well braced, he 
 stands six feet in his stockings. And his limbs show 
 symmetrical proportion. His duck trousers, fitting 
 tightly over the hips, display a pair of limbs supple 
 and sinewy, with thighs that seem all muscle from wkin 
 to bone. 
 
 In spite of his sterling qualities as a seaman, and 
 uoble character as a man, Harry has never risen to any 
 rank in the service. With him has it been literally 
 true, "Once a sailor, still a sailor ; " and though long 
 ago rated an A.B. of the first order, above this he has 
 not ascended a single step. Were he to complain, 
 which he rarely ever does, he would, in all probability, 
 say that non-promotion has been due to independence 
 of spirit, or, shaping it in his own phraseology, owing 
 to his " not having boot-licked the swabs above him." 
 And there is some truth in this, though another reason 
 might be assigned b}' those disposed to speak slighting- 
 ly of him, — that, although liking salt water, he has a 
 decided antipathy to that which is fresh, unle »s when 
 
 12* 
 
138 THE FLAG OF B1STRESS. 
 
 taken with an admixture of rum ; then he is too fon 1 
 of it. It is his only fault, barring which, a better man 
 than Harry Blew — and, when sober, a steadier — never 
 trod the deck of a ship. 
 
 As already said, he has trod many, the latest being 
 that of the " Crusader ;" in which vessel he has spent 
 five years of his life. His engagement terminating 
 almost on the ver} r day she dropped anchor before San 
 Francisco, he has been set free, either to sta} T in the 
 ship, by entering his name upon her books for a fresh 
 period of service, or step out of her, and go cruising 
 on his own account whithersoever he may wish. Tak- 
 ing into consideration the state of things in San 
 Francisco just at this very time, it is not strange that 
 he elected to leave the ship. It would be stranger if 
 he had even hesitated about it ; though this he had 
 indeed done, for some days lingering witn mind only 
 half made up. But the golden lure proved at length 
 ,too temptingly attractive ; and, 3-ielding to it, he took 
 a last leave of his old shipmates, was pulled ashore, 
 and has since been sojourning at the Sailor's Home ; 
 for he is still there, as Cadwallader rightly surmised. 
 
 The Sailor's Home is a hostlery — half eating-house, 
 half drinking-saloon — of somewhat unpretentious 
 appearance ; being a rough, weather-boarded house, 
 without planing or paint, and only two stories in 
 height. But if low in structure, it is high enough in 
 its charges, as Harry Blew has learned ; these being 
 out If all proportion to the outside appearance of the 
 place and its interior accommodation, though in keep- 
 ing with the prices of all other like houses of entertain- 
 ment in San Francisco. Harry's original intention was 
 to make only a short stay at the Sailor's Home, — just 
 long enough to put him through a bit of a spree, foi 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 139 
 
 which twelve months' pay, received from the frigate's 
 purser at leaving, had amply provided him. Then he 
 would start for the Feather River, or some other tribu- 
 tary stream of the Sacramento. The first part of this 
 programme has been already carried out, with some- 
 thing besides ; that something being the complete 
 expenditure of all his pay, — every shilling he received 
 from the purser, — and in an incredibly short space of 
 time. He has been scarcely six days ashore when he 
 discovers his cash exchequer quite cleared out. As for 
 credit, there is no such thing in San Francisco. 
 
 Since landing, Harry has not very carefully kept his 
 dead reckoning, and is at first somewhat surprised to 
 find himself so far out in it. He has plunged his hands 
 into his pockets without encountering coin. He has 
 searched in his sea-chest, and eveiy other receptacle 
 where he has been accustomed to cany cash, with simi- 
 lar disappointing result. What can have become of 
 his twelve months' wage, drawn on the day he left the 
 4 ' Crusader " ? It has all disappeared ! No wonder he is 
 unable to account for its disappearance ; for, ever since 
 that day, he has been any thing but himself: in short, 
 he has given way to dissipation of longer continuance 
 than ever before in his life. It has lasted six days, 
 with most part of six nights, at the end of which time 
 he has only pulled up for the want of cash to continue 
 it i credit being declined him at the very counter 
 over which he has passed all his pay. 
 
 Impecuniosity is an unpleasant predicament in any 
 country, and at all times : but in the San Francisco of 
 1849 it was a positive danger, where six dollars were 
 demanded and obtained for the most meagre of meals ; 
 the same for sleeping on a blanketless bed, in a chilly 
 night, within a rough weather-boarded room, or under 
 
140 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 the yet thinner shelter of a canvas tent. It was a 
 boon to be allowed to lie on the lee-side of a wooden* 
 walled stable, but cost mone}^ for the privilege of sleep- 
 ing in a stall, with straw litter for couch, and the heat 
 of the horses in lieu of coverlet. 
 
 In the necessity of seeking some such indifferent ac* 
 cominodation, Harry Blew finds himself, on the seventh 
 night after having received his discharge from the "Cru- 
 sader." And as he has now got somewhat sobered, 
 with brain clear enough to think, it occurs to him that 
 the time is come for carrying out the second part of 
 his programme ; that is, going to the gold-diggers. But 
 how to get off, and then? These are separate ques- 
 tions, to neither of which can he give a satisfactory 
 answer. Passage to Sacramento, by steamer, costs 
 over a hundred dollars, and still more by stage. He 
 has not a shilling, not a red cent ; aiid his sea-kit sold 
 would not realize a sum sufficient to pay his fare, even 
 ^f it (the kit) were free. But it is not : on the con- 
 trary, embargoed, quodded, by the keeper of the Sail- 
 or's Home, against a couple of da}'s of unpaid board 
 and lodging, with sundry imbibings across the counter, 
 still scored on the slate. 
 
 The discharged man-o'-war's-man sees himself in a 
 dread dilemma, all the more from its having a double 
 horn. He can neither go to the gold-diggings, nor 
 stay in the Sailor's Home. Comparatively cheap aa 
 may be tb.s humble hostelry, it is yet dear enough 
 to demand ten dollars a day for indifferent bed and 
 board. This has been bad enough for Harry Blew, 
 even though but a foremast-man ; but he is threatened 
 with a still worse condition of things. Inappropriate 
 the title bestowed on his house ; for the owner of the 
 u Home " has not the slightest hospitality in his heart, 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 141 
 
 He has discovered that his English guest is impecuni- 
 ous ; this by the two da}*s' board, and as many nights' 
 bed, remaining unpaid. There is a notice conspicu- 
 ously posted above the bar, that " scores must be set- 
 tled daily." And Harry Blew, having disregarded this, 
 has received private but positive notice of auothei 
 kind, to the effect that he is forthwith to discontinue 
 taking a seat at the table-cVlwte, as also to surrender 
 up his share of the bed he has been occupying. At 
 this, the discharged man-o'-war's-man has shown no 
 anger ; nor does he feel in airy way affronted. He has 
 that correct sense common to sailors, with most others 
 who have seen travel in strange lands, and knows, that, 
 when cash is not forthcoming, credit cannot be expected. 
 In California, as elsewhere, such is the universal and 
 rigorous custom, to which man must resign himself. 
 The English sailor is only a bit sorry to think he has 
 expended his cash so freely, a little repentant at hav- 
 ing done it so foolishly, and, on the whole, a good 
 deal down-hearted. 
 
 But there is a silver lining to the cloud. The " Cru- 
 sader" is still in port, and not expected to sail for some 
 days. He may once more place his name upon the 
 frigate's books, and rejoin her. He knows he will not 
 only be received back by her commander, but welcomed 
 by all his old officers and shipmates. A word spoken 
 to the first boat coming ashore, and all will be well. 
 Shall he speak such word ? That has be 3ome the ques- 
 tion ; for in this, as every other step in life, there is a 
 pro and contra. Humiliating the thought of going 
 back to service on the ship, after taking leave of every 
 body aboard ; returning to a dingy forecastle, to toil, 
 and the handling of tarry ropes, after the bright dreams 
 he has been indulging in ; to forego the gatherii g of 
 
142 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 gold-dust, and the exchanging it for doubloons or dol« 
 lars : in short, turning his back upon fortune, the 
 prospect of a life-competence, perhaps plenitude of 
 wealth, with its resulting ease and idleness, and once 
 more facing stormy seas, with only hard knocks and 
 laborious work in store for him throughout the rest of 
 his life. 
 
 While the sovereigns were still clinking in his pock- 
 ets, this was the dark side of the picture ; towards 
 Sacramento, the bright one. Now that the pockets 
 are empty, every thing seems changed, and the silver 
 lining lies on the side of the ship. Still the sailor 
 hesitates how to decide. Despite the pressure upon 
 him, he ponders and reflects, as he does so, plunging 
 his hands into his pockets, apparently searching for 
 coin. It is merely mechanical ; for he knows he has 
 not a shilling. 
 
 While thus occupied, he is seated in the little sanded 
 bar-room of the " Home," alone with the bar-keeper; 
 the latter eying him with an} T thing but a sympathetic 
 air ; for the book is before him, showing that indebted- 
 ness for bed and board, to say nothing of the unsettled 
 bar-score ; and the record makes a bar-sinister between 
 them. Another drink could not be added now, even 
 though but a bottle of ginger-beer. The door of credit 
 is closed ; and onlv cash could procure an extension of 
 a hospitality hitherto scant enough. 
 
 The sailor things. Must he surrender? — ghe up 
 his dreams of fingering 3*ellow gold, and return to 
 handling black ropes? A glance at the grim, unro- 
 laxed, and unrelenting visage of the bar-keeper, decides 
 him. His decision is expressed * in characteristic 
 speech, not addressed to the drink-dispenser, nor aloud 
 but in low, sad soliloquy. 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 140 
 
 *t 
 
 Wi' nie, I see, the old savin's to stan' good, — 
 i Once a sailor, still a sailor.' Harry, you'll steer 
 back for the ' Crusader.' " 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 UNEXPECTED VISITORS. 
 
 HAVING resolved upon returning to his ship, 
 and that very night if he can but get a boat, 
 Harry Blew is about to sally forth into the street, when 
 his egress is unexpectedly prevented. Not by the land- 
 lord of the Sailor's Home, nor his representative, who 
 would be only too glad to get rid of a guest with two 
 da}'s' reckoning in arrear ; for they have surreptitiously 
 inspected his sea-chest, and found it to contain a ful. 
 suit of " Sunday go-ashores," with other effects, which 
 ihej deem sufficient collateral security for the debt. 
 And, as it has been already lrypothecated for this, both 
 Boniface and bar-keeper would rather rejoice to see 
 their sailor-guest clear out of the " Home " for good, 
 leaving the sea-chest behind him. On this condition 
 they would be willing to wipe out the debt, both board- 
 ing and bar score. 
 
 Harry has no thought of thus parting with his kit . 
 Now that he has made up his mind to return to the 
 "Crusader," a letter prospect is opened up to him. 
 He has hopes, that on his making appearance aboard, 
 and again entering his name on the frigate's books, the 
 purser will advance him a sum suffic ent to release the 
 kit. Or he can, in all likelihood, collect the moneT 
 
144 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 among his old messmates. Not for this reason only ia 
 be anxious to reach the ship that night, but because 
 be has no other chance of having anyplace to sleep in, 
 sa 70 the street. Both landlord and bar-keeper have 
 notified him, in plain terms, that he must peremptorily 
 leave ; and he is about to act upon their notification, 
 and take his departure, when prevented, as already 
 said. What has hindered him from going out of the 
 " Home " is a man coming into it; or, rather, two; 
 since two shadows have suddenly darkened the door, 
 and are projected across the sanded floor of the bar- 
 toom. Not like shadows in the eyes of Harry Blew, but 
 streaks of brightest sunlight ; for, in the individuals 
 entering, he recognizes two of his officers, — one ol 
 them his best friend, and the preserver of his* life. 
 Crozier and CadwaHader have found him. 
 
 At sight of th^m, the discharged sailor salutes 
 promptly, and with as much respect as if it were on 
 the quarter-deck of the "Crusader," but with much 
 more demonstration ; for their well-timed appearance 
 draws from him an exclamation of joy. Jerking off 
 his straw hat, and giving a twitch to one of his brow- 
 locks, he bobs his head several times in succession, 
 with a simultaneous backscrape of his foot upon the 
 floor. 
 
 His obeisance ended, he stands silently awaiting 
 whatever cemmunication the young officeis have to 
 make. He is alread}* aware that their business is with 
 himself ; for the bar-room is but dimly lighted ; and 
 Crozier, while crossing its threshold, not at once recog- 
 nizing him, called out the question, " Is there a sailor 
 sta} T ing here, by name Hariy Blew? " 
 
 "Ay, ay, sir ! " was the prompt response ; the sailor 
 himself giving it, along with the salutation described, 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 14a 
 
 During the short interval of silence that succeeds, 
 Harry's heart can be distinctly heard beating. Lately 
 depressed, " down in the dumps," as lie himself would 
 word it, it is now up to his throat. The sight of his 
 patron, the preserver of his life, is like having it saved 
 a second time. Terhaps they have come to ask him 
 to rejoin the ship? If so, 'tis the very thing he was 
 thinking of. He will not anticipate, but waits for 
 them to declare their errand. 
 
 "Well, Harry, old boy," says Grozier, after warmly 
 shaking the sailor's hand, " I'm right glad to find yon 
 here. I was afraid 3*011' d gone off to the diggings." 
 
 " True, Master Ed'ard. I did intend standin' on 
 that tack, but hadn't been able to get under way, for 
 want o' a wind." 
 
 " Want of a wind? I don't quite understand you." 
 
 "Wiry, }'OU see sir, I've been a little bit spreeish 
 since comin' ashore, and my locker's got low ; more'n 
 that, it's total cleared out. Though I suppose there's 
 plenty o' gold in the diggin's, it takes gold to get 
 there ; and, as I ha'n't any, I'm laid up here like an old 
 hulk foul o' a mud-bank. That's just how it is, gen- 
 tlemen." 
 
 "In which case, perhaps you mightn't feel indisposed 
 to go to sea again ? " ( 
 
 " Just the thing I war thinkin' o', Master Edward. 
 I'd a' most made up my mind to it, sir, an' war 'bout 
 startin' to try to get aboard the old ' Crusader,' and 
 askin' your honor to ha' my name entered on her books 
 again. I'm willin' to join for a fresh term, if they'll 
 take me." 
 
 " They'd take and be glad to get you, Harry, you 
 may be sure of that. Such a skilled sailor as you 
 nee i never be without a ship, where there's a British 
 
 13 
 
146 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 man-<cf-war within hailing-distance ; but we don't wan( 
 you to join the ' Crusader.' " 
 
 " How is that, sir?" 
 
 "Because we can help you to something a little 
 better : at least, it will be more to your advantage in 
 a pecuniary sense. You wouldn't mind shipping in a 
 merchant-vessel, with wages three or four times as 
 much as you can get in a man-of-war? How would 
 you like that, Harry? " 
 
 " I'd like it amazin'ry, sir ! And for the matter o 
 being a merchanter, that's neither here nor there, so 
 long's you recommend it. I'll go as cook, if } T ou tell 
 me to." 
 
 " No, no, Harry, not that!" laughingly replies the 
 young officer. " That would never do. I should pity 
 those who had to eat the dishes 3'011'd dress for them. 
 Besides, I should be sorry to see you stewing your 
 strength awa}^ in front of a galley-fire. You must do 
 better than that; and it chances I'm authorized to 
 offer you something better. It's a berth on board a 
 trading-ship, and one with some special advantages. 
 She's a Chilian vessel ; and her captain is, I believe, 
 either Chilian or Spanish. That won't make any dif- 
 ference to you ? ' ' 
 
 "Not a doit, sir! I don't care what the ship's 
 colors be, nor what country her skipper, so long's he 
 allows good wages an' plenty o' grub." 
 
 " And plenty of grog too, Harry? " 
 
 " Ay, a} T , sir ! I confess to a weakness for that, 
 Jeastways three times a da}*." 
 
 " No doubt, 3-011' 11 get it as often as you've a mind. 
 But, Harry, 1 have a word to say about that. Besides 
 my interest in yowv own welfare, I've another and 
 more selfish one in this Chilian ship. So has Mr. 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SLA. 147 
 
 Cadwallader. We both want you to se on 3-oin best 
 behavior during the trip you're to take in her. On 
 board will be two lacly-passengers as far as Panama ; 
 for the ship is bound thither, and for other ports be}T>nd, 
 I believe as far as Valparaiso. But the ladies are to 
 *and at Panama ; and, so long as the3 r 're with you, 
 you must do every thing in your power to make things 
 agreeable for them. If they should ever be in any 
 danger, — from storm, shipwreck, or otherwise, — you'll 
 stand by them ? ' ' 
 
 " Yes, Harry," adds Cadwallader : " you'll do that, 
 won't you?" 
 
 4 'Lor, 3'our honors!" replies the sailor, showing 
 surprise. " Sure, ye needn't 'a put sich questin to me, 
 a British man-o'-war's-man! I'd do that much, any- 
 how, out o' sheer starn sense o' duty. But when it 
 come to takin' care o' two ladies, to say nothin' about 
 theer bein' so young, an' so beautiful" — 
 
 " Avast, Hany ! How do } T ou know they are either 
 one or the other?" asks Crozier, surprised ; Cadwalla- 
 der repeating the question. 
 
 " Lor love ye, masters! Do ye think a common 
 sailor ha'n't no e3*es in his head for an}- thin' but ropes 
 an* tar? You forget I wur o' the boat's crew as rowed 
 two sweet creeturs on board the ' Crusader,' the night 
 o' the grand dancin', an' arterward took the same 
 ashore, along wi' two young gentlemen as went to see 
 'em home. Sure, sirs, actin' cocks 'n on tha t occasion, t 
 wouldn't help hearin' some o' the speeches as passed in 
 the starn-sheets, though they wur spoke in the ears o' 
 the saynoritas, soft as the breeze that fanned their fait 
 cheeks, an' brought the color out on 'om red as Rib* 
 3ting pippins." 
 
 "Avast again, you rascal! So you've been eaves* 
 
148 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 dropping, have you? I quite forgot you understood 
 Spanish." 
 
 " Only a trifle, Master Ed'ard." 
 1 Too much for that occasion." 
 
 "Ah, well, } T our honor! it may stand me in stead 
 Aboard the ship you speak o'." 
 
 " Well, Harry, I'm not going to scold you, seeing 
 chat you couldn't help hearing what } T ou did. And 
 now I may as well tell you that the young ladies 3'ou 
 saw that night in the boat are the same who are to be 
 passengers in the Chilian ship. -You'll take good care 
 of them, I know." 
 
 4 ^That you may depend on, sir. Any one as touches 
 hair o' their heads, to do 'em any injury, '11 have to 
 tear the whole o' his off the head o' Harry Blew. I'll 
 see 'em safe to Panama, or never show there myself. 
 I promise that ; an' I think both your honors' 11 take 
 the word o' a British man-o'-war's-man." 
 
 "That's enough. Now to give 3-011 the necessary 
 directions about joining this ship. She's 13'ing at 
 anchor somewhere about in the ba} T ; but 3-011' 11 find 
 her easity enough. And 3-ou needn't go in search of 
 her till 3 T ou've seen the gentleman whose name and 
 address are upon this card. You see, ' Don Tomas 
 Silvestre,' a ship-agent, whose office is down in one 
 of the streets by the strand. Report 3-ourself to him 
 ilrst thing in the morning. In all likelihood, he'll en- 
 gage 3-0U on sight, make out 3-our papers, and give you 
 full directions for getting aboard the ship. It appears 
 she's short of hands ; indeed, even without ft single 
 sailor. And, 03' the way, Harry, if you apply soon 
 enough, it's good as certain 3 T ou'll be made first mate ; 
 all the more from your being able to speak Spanish. 
 It's too late for 3 t ou to do any thing about it to-night; 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 149 
 
 out doi.'t oversleep yourself. Be at the ship-agent's 
 to-morrow, betimes." 
 
 " Ye can trust me for that, sir. I'll t^ow my figure- 
 head there first thing in the mornin' ; an' I an't afeerd 
 o' no or. a gettin' aboard afore me, if they've not gone 
 a'ready." 
 
 "I think no one will be before j'ou : I hope not. 
 Send us word how you have succeeded, as the ' Cru- 
 sader' will likely be in port long enough for us to 
 hear from you. Still, as she may sail on short notice, 
 we may not see you again. Remember, then, what 
 we've said about the senoritas. We shall rely upon 
 your fidelity." 
 
 " Ay, well may ye, masters. You can both trust 
 your lives to Harry Blew, an' those of them as is dear 
 to you." 
 
 "All right, old boy!" exclaims Crozier, satisfied. 
 "We must part; but let's hope we'll me^t again. 
 When 3'ou get back to England, you know where to 
 find me. Now good-by. Give us a grip of your hon- 
 est hand, and God bless you ! " 
 
 Sa3^ing this, he grasps the horny hand of the sailor, 
 and warmly presses it. The pressure is returned by a 
 squeeze, that gives assurance of more than ordinary 
 friendship. It is a grip of true gratitude ; and the 
 look which accompanies it tells of a devoted friendship 
 bordering on adoration. 
 
 Cadwallader also exchanges a like parting salutation ; 
 after which, the }*oung officers start off to continue 
 their cruise through the streets. 
 13« 
 
150 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 AN OHOSTITABLE HOME. 
 
 HARRY BLEW stands in the doorway of th« 
 Sailor's Home, watching the two gentlemen aa 
 they walk away, his eyes glowing with gratitude, and 
 sparkling with jo} r . And no wonder, considering the 
 change in his situation brought about b}' their influence. 
 Ten minutes before, his spirits were at their lowest and 
 darkest. But the prospect of treble or quadruple pay 
 on board a snug ship, though it be a trading-vessel, 
 with the additional chance of being mate instead of 
 foremast-man, has given them a fillip, not only return- 
 ing them to their ordinary condition, but raising them 
 lo their highest and brightest. The only damper is 
 regret at parting with the fine young fellow who has 
 done so much for him. But he has passed through that 
 alread}', when separating from his ship, and can now 
 better bear it under the reflection, that, though apart 
 from his patron, he will have an opportunity of doing 
 something to show his gratitude. He knows how much 
 Crozier is interested in the well-being of Carmen 
 Montijo, — for H any has been made acquainted with 
 her name, as also that of Inez Alvarez ; and to be 
 intrusted with a sort of guardianship over the young 
 girls is a proud tnought to the ex-man-o'-war's-man. 
 
 To carry out the confidence reposed in him will be 
 a labor of love ; and he vows in his heart it shall be 
 done, if need be at the risk a*" life. Indeed, the inter* 
 
A STORY OF THE SOtJTH SEA. 151 
 
 'i *yw just ended has made a new man of him in more 
 senses than one : for upon the spot he regis' ers a 
 mental resolve to give up dram-drinking for life, or, at 
 all events, till he has seen his charge — the two senori- 
 tas — safe landed at Panama, and the Chilian ship 
 snug in the harbor of Valparaiso. After that, he is 
 less sure that he may not again go upon a big spree. 
 
 Heaving a sigh as the young officers pass out of 
 sight, he turns back into the bar-room. It is no longer 
 a question of his going aboard the "Crusader." He 
 must remain ashore, to be up betimes in the morn- 
 ing, so that he ma}^ be early at the office of the ship- 
 agent. And now, again, a shadow, though only a 
 slight one, comes over his spirit. He has still before 
 him the undetermined question, where he is to sleep. 
 Notwithstanding his fine prospects for the future, the 
 present is yet unchanged. Unfortunately he did not 
 think of this while the young officers were with him, 
 else a word would have made all well. Either of 
 them, he doubted not, would have relieved his necessi- 
 ties, had they been but told of them. Too late now : 
 the} T are gone out of sight, out of hail, and whither he 
 cannot tell or guess. To attempt searching for them 
 in such crowded streets would be only a waste of time. 
 While thus ruefully reflecting, he is confronted by the 
 bar-keeper, whose countenance is now beset with smiles. 
 The fellow has got it into his head that his sailor-guest 
 is no longer impecunious. The navy gentlemen lust 
 gone have no doubt been to engage him for their ship, 
 and perhaps made him an advance of w:.ges. 
 
 "Well, my salt," says he, in a tone of jocular famil- 
 iarity, " I guess you've got the shiners now, an* kiij 
 settle up your score? " 
 
 " No, indeed, sir ! " answers Harry, more than ever 
 taken aback. " I'm sorry to say f hain't," 
 
152 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 " And what hev them gold-buttoned fellers been 
 palaverin' ye about?" 
 
 " Not about money, master. Them's two o' the 
 officers belongin' to my old ship, — the British frigate 
 4 Crusader.' An' fine j^oung fellows they be too." 
 
 14 Much good their finikin fineness seem to hev done 
 you ! So they hain't gin you nuthin' better than their 
 talk, hev they? Nuthin' besides? " 
 
 " Nothing besides," rejoins Blew, restraining his 
 temper, a little touched by the bar-keeper's inquisitive- 
 ness, as also his impertinent manner. 
 
 " Nuthin' but fine words, eh? Well, thar's plenty 
 o' them 'bout hyar ; but they won't butter no parsnips. 
 And let me tell you, my man, they won't pay your 
 board-bill." 
 
 " I know that," returns the sailor, still keeping his 
 temper. " But I hope to have money soon." 
 
 " Oh ! that's been your story for the last two days ; 
 but it won't bamboozle me any longer. You get no 
 more credit here." 
 
 " Can't I have supper and bed for another night? " 
 
 "No: that you can't." 
 
 " I'll pay for them first thing in the mornin'." 
 
 " You'll pay for 'em this night — now, if yon calc'- 
 late to get 'em. An', if j'ou've no cash, 'tain't any 
 use talkin'. What d'ye think we keep a tavern for? 
 'Twould soon be to let, — bars, beds, and all, — if we'd 
 only such customers as 3-011. So the sooner you walk 
 off, the better the landlord' 11 like it. He's jest gin me 
 orders to tell ye clear out." 
 
 " It' 3 gallows hard, master," saj T s Harry, heaving a 
 sigh, " the more so as I've got the promise of a good 
 berth 'board a ship that's down in the harbor. The 
 gentlemen you seed have just been to tell me about it.' 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 153 
 
 " Then why didn't they give you the money to cleai 
 your kit? " 
 
 " They'd have done that, no doubt of it. \f I'd only 
 thought o' askin' them. I forgot all about it." 
 
 " Ah, that's all very fine, a likely tale ; but I don't 
 believe a word of it. If they cared to have you in 
 their ship, they'd have given }'OU the wherewithal to 
 get there. But, come! it's no use shillyshallyin' any 
 longer. The landlord won't like it. He's given his 
 orders sharp : Pay, or go." 
 
 " Well, I suppose I must go." 
 
 "You must; an,' as I've already said, the sooner 
 you're off the better." 
 
 After delivering this stern ultimatum, the bar-keeper 
 jauntily returns behind his bar, to look more blandly 
 on two guests who have presented themselves at it, 
 called for "refreshments," and tossed down a couple 
 of dollars to pay for them. 
 
 Harry Blew turns towards the door, and, without 
 saying another word, steps out into the street. Once 
 there, he does not stop, or stand hesitating. The hos- 
 pitality of the so-called " Home" has proved a sorry 
 sham ; and, indignant at the shabby treatment re- 
 ceived, he is but too glad to get away from the place. 
 All his life used to snug quarters in a fine ship's fore- 
 castle, with every thing found for him, he has never 
 before experienced the pang of having no place to 
 sleep He not only feels it now in all its unpleasant- 
 ness, but fancies the passers-by can perceive his 
 humiliation. Haunted by this fancy, urged on by it, 
 he hurries his steps ; nor stays them till out of sight 
 of the Sailor's Home, out of the street in which the 
 inhospitable tavern stands. He even dislikes the idea 
 of having to go back for his chest, which, howc* er v 
 he must some time do. 
 
154 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 Meanwhile, what is to become of hini for the remain* 
 tier of that night? Where is he to obtain supper and a 
 bed? About the latter he cares the least ; but, having 
 had no dinner, he is hungr}', — half- famished, — and 
 could eat a pound or two of the saltest and toughest 
 junk ever drawn out of a ship's cask. In this un- 
 happy mood he stra}~s on along the street. There is 
 no lack of food before his eyes, almost within touching 
 of his hand, but only to tantalize, and still further 
 whet the edge of his appetite. Eating-houses are open 
 all around him ; and under their blazing gas-jets he 
 can see steaming dishes, and savory joints, in the act 
 of being set upon tables surrounded 03- guests seeming 
 hungry as himself, but otherwise better off. He, too, 
 might enter without fear of being challenged as an 
 intruder ; for among the men inside are many in coarse 
 garb, some of them not so respectably apparelled as 
 himself. But what would be the use of his entering a 
 restaurant without even a penn}- in his pockets ? He 
 could onty gaze at dishes he may not eat, and dare 
 not call for. He remembers his late discomfiture too 
 keenly to risk having it repeated. Thus reflecting, he 
 turns his back upon the tables so temptingly spread, 
 and keeps on along the street. Still the double ques- 
 tion recurs : Where is he to get supper ? and where 
 sleep? Now, as ever, is he out of sorts with him- 
 self for not having given his confidence to the young 
 gentlemen, and told them of the "fix" he was in. 
 Either would have relieved him on the instant, without 
 a word. But it was too late now for regrets. By this 
 time, in all likelihood, they have started back to their 
 ship. How he wished himself aboard the " Crusad* 
 er " ! How happy he would feel in her forecastle, 
 among his old shipmates ! It cannot be ; and there« 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 155 
 
 fore it is i&h to think of it. What on earth is he to 
 do? A thought strikes him. He thinks of the ship- 
 agent "whose card Crozier left with him, and which he 
 has thrust into his coat-pocket. He draws it out, and 
 holds it up to a street-lamp, to make himself acquainted 
 with the ship-agent's address. The name he remem- 
 bers, and needs not that. Though but a common 
 sailor, Harry is not altogether illiterate. The seaport 
 town where he first saw the light had a public school 
 for the poorer people, in which he was taught to read 
 and write. . By the former of these elementary branches, 
 supplemented by a smattering of Spanish picked up in 
 South American ports he is enabled to decipher the 
 writing upon the card, for it is in writing, and so gets 
 the correct address, both the street and number. 
 Having returned it to his pocket, he buttons up his 
 dreadnought, and, taking a fresh hitch at his duck 
 trousers, starts off again, this time with fixed intent,— 
 to find the office of Don Tomas Silvestre. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 THE "BANK" EL DORADO. 
 
 AMONTfi bank in the city of San Franciscc, in 
 the establishment ycleped ' ; E1 Dorado," part 
 drinking-house, the other part devoted to gambling on 
 the grandest scale. The two are carried on simulta- 
 neously, and in the same room, — - an oblong saloon big 
 enough for both. The portion of it devoted to Bac- 
 chus is at one end, — that farthest from the entrance* 
 
156 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 door, where the shrine of the jolly god is represented 
 by a liquor-bar extending from side to side, and 
 backed by an array of shining bottles, glittering 
 glasses, and sparkling decanters ; his worship adminis- 
 tered by half a dozen bar-keepers resplendent in white 
 shirts with wrist-ruffles, and big diamond breast-pins, 
 — real, not paste. 
 
 The altar of Fortuna is altogether of a different 
 shape and pattern, occup3 T ing more space. It is not 
 compact, but extended over the floor, in the form of 
 five tables, large, as if for billiards ; though not one of 
 them is of this kind. Billiards would be too slow a 
 game for the frequenters of El Dorado. They could 
 not patiently wait for the scoring of fifty points, even 
 though the stake were a thousand dollars. "No, no! 
 monte for me!" would be the word of every one of 
 them ; or a few might say, " faro I " And, of the five 
 tables in the saloon, four are for the former game, 
 the fifth furnished for the latter ; though there is but 
 little apparent difference in the furniture of the two ; 
 both having a simple cover of green baize or broad- 
 cloth, with certain crossing-lines traced upon it ; that 
 of the faro table having the full suit of thirteen cards 
 arranged in two rows, face upwards, and fixed ; while 
 on the monte tables but two cards appear thus, — the 
 Queen and Knave; or as designated in the game, 
 purely Spanish and Spanish American, Caballo and 
 Soto. They are essentially card-games, and altogether 
 of chance, just as is the throwing of dice. 
 
 In the El Dorado there are other modes to get rid of 
 money, or make it if chance so decides, — a rare 
 eventuality, save in the case of the professional gab- 
 blers themselves. In one corner of the saloon may be 
 seen a roulette-table ; in another, a bac\gammon-boarcl, 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 157 
 
 with dice-boxes and cubes appertaining, not used lor 
 the simple, innocent game which the light leathern 
 case with its checkered cover represents, but in the 
 dead, naked casting of dice ; doubloons or dollars 
 changing hands at every throw. Other gambling con- 
 trivances have place in the El Dorado ; for it is a 
 "hell" of the most complete kind; but these are of 
 slight importance compared with the great games, 
 monte and faro, the real pieces de resistance; while 
 the others are only side-dishes, indulged in by such 
 saunterers about the saloon as do not contemplate 
 serious pla3 T . Of all, monte is the main attraction, 
 its convenient simplicity- -for it is as simple as tossing 
 " heads or tails" — making it possible for the veriest 
 greenhorn to take part in it, with as much chance of 
 success as the oldest habitue. Originally Mexican, in 
 California and other Western States it has become 
 thoroughly Americanized. 
 
 Of the visible insignia of the game, and in addition 
 to the two cards with their faces turned up, there is a 
 complete pack, with several stacks of circular-shaped 
 and variously-colored pieces of ivory, — the " checks " 
 or counters of the game. These rest upon the table to 
 trie right or left of the dealer, usually the " banker' ' 
 himself, in charge of his croupier, who pa}-s them out, 
 or draws them in, as the bank loses or wins, along with 
 such coin as may have been staked upon the cards. 
 Around the table's edge, and in front of each player, 
 is his own private pile, usually a mixture of doubloons, 
 dollars, and ivory checks, with bags or packets of 
 gold-dust and nuggets. Of bank-notes there are few 
 or none, the currency of California being through the 
 medium of metal ; at this time (1849) most of it un- 
 minted, and in its crude state, as it came out of the 
 14 
 
158 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 mine, or the river mud. By the croupier's hand is a 
 pah* of scales with weights appertaining; their pur- 
 pose, to ascertain the value of such little gold packages 
 as are placed upon the cards, this only needed to be 
 known when the bank is loser. Otherwise, they are 
 ruthlessly raked in alongside the other deposits, with- 
 out any note made of the amount. 
 
 The dealer sits centrally at the side of the table, in 
 a grand chair, cards in hand. After shuffling, he turna 
 their faces up, one by one, and with measured slow- 
 ness. He interrupts himself at intervals, as the face 
 of a card is exposed, making a point for or against 
 him in the game. Calling this out in calm voice and 
 long-drawn monotone, he waits for the croupier to 
 square accounts, which he does by drawing in, or push- 
 ing out, the coins and checks, with the nimbleness of a 
 prestidigitateur. Old bets are re-arranged, new ones 
 made, and the dealing proceeds. 
 
 Around the tables sit or stand the players, exhibit- 
 ing a variety of facial types and national costumes. 
 For there }*ou ma}' see not only human specimens of 
 every known nationality, but of every rank in the 
 social scale, with the callings and professions that ap- 
 pertain to it, — an assemblage such as is rarely, if ever, 
 seen elsewhere. Gentlemen who may have won uni- 
 versity honors ; officers wearing gold straps on their 
 shoulders, or bands of lace around the rims of their 
 caps ; native Californians resplendent in slashed and 
 buttoned velveteens ; States' lawyers or doctors, in 
 sober black ; even judges, that same morning seated 
 upon the bench, — may be all observed at the month 
 table, mingling with men in red flannel shirts, blanket- 
 coats, and trousers tucked into the tops of mud -be- 
 daubed boots, with sailora in pea-jackets of coarse 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 159 
 
 pilot, or Guernsey smocks, unwashed, unkempt, un- 
 shorn, not only mingling with, but jostled by them, 
 rudely if occasion call. All are on equality here, no 
 i lass distinction in the saloon El Dorado ; for all are 
 on the same errand, — to get rich by gambling. The 
 gold gleaming over the table is reflected in their faces, 
 not in smiles, or cheerfully, but an expression of hun- 
 gry cupidity, fixed as if stamped into their features. 
 No sign of hilarity or joyfulness, not a word of badi- 
 nage passing about or between, scarce a s}*llable 
 spoken, save the call-words of the game, or an occa- 
 sional remark by the croupier, explanatory of some 
 disputed point about the placing or payment of 
 stakes. And if there be little light humor, neither is 
 there much of ill manners. Strangely assorted as is 
 the motley crowd, in part composed of the roughest 
 specimens of humanity, noisy speech is exceptional, 
 and rude or boisterous behavior rare. Either shown 
 would be resented, and soon silenced, though, perhaps, 
 not till after some noises of still louder nature, — the 
 excited, angry clamor of a quarrel, succeeded by the 
 cracking of pistols ; then a man borne off wounded, in 
 all likelihood to die, or already dead, and stretched 
 along the sanded floor, to be taken unconcernedly up, 
 and carried feet foremost out of the room. 
 
 And yet in an instant it will all be over. The game- 
 sters, temporarily attracted from the tables, will return 
 to them ; the dealing of the cards will be resumed ; 
 and midst th§ chinking of coin, and the rattling of 
 checks, the sanguinary drama will not only cease to be 
 talked about, but thought of. Bowie-knives and pistols 
 are the police that preserve order in :ne saloons of San 
 Francisco. 
 
 Although the El Dorado is owned by a single indi« 
 
160 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 viclual, that is only as regards the house itself, witb 
 the drinking-bar and its appurtenances. The gam- 
 bling-tables are under separate and distinct proprietor- 
 ship ; each belonging to a " banker," who supplies the 
 cash capital, and other necessaries for the game; in 
 short, " runs " the table, to use a Californian phrase. 
 As already stated, the owner of such a concern is him- 
 self generally the dealer, and usually, indeed almost 
 universally, a distinguished " sportsman;" this being 
 the appellation of the Western States' professional 
 gambler, occasionally abbreviated to "sport." He is 
 a man of peculiar characteristics, though not confined 
 to California. His like may be met with all over the 
 United States, but more frequently in those of the 
 South and South-west. The Mississippi Valley is his 
 congenial coursing-ground, and its two great metro- 
 politan cities, New Orleans and St. Louis, his chief 
 centres of operation ; Natchez, Memphis,. Vicksburg, 
 Louisville, and Cincinnati being places provincial, 
 which he onty honors with an occasional visit. He is 
 encountered aboard all the big steamboats, those 
 called " crack," and carrying the wealthier class of 
 passengers ; while the others he leaves to the more 
 timid and less noted practitioners of his calling. 
 Wherever seen, the "sport" is resplendent in shirt- 
 front, glittering studs, with a grand cluster of dia- 
 monds upon his finger that sparkles like a stalactite as 
 he deals out the cards. He is, in truth, an elegant of 
 the first water, apparelled and perfumed as a D'Orsav 
 or Beau Brummell, and, although ranking socially 
 lower than these, has a sense of honor qaite as high 
 perhaps higher than had either. 
 
A STOBY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 1G\ 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 A MONTE BANK IN FULL BLAST. 
 
 IN the saloon El Dorado, as already said, theie are 
 five gambling-tables side by side, but with wide 
 spaces between for the players. Presiding over the 
 one which stands central is a man of about thirty years 
 of age, of good figure, and well-formed features, the 
 latter denoting Spanish descent ; his cheeks clean 
 shaven'; the upper lip mustached ; the under having a 
 pointed imperial, or " goatee," which extends below 
 the extremity of his chin. He has his hat on (so has 
 everybody in the room) , — a white beaver, set upon a 
 thick shock of black wavy hair, its brim shadowing a 
 face that would be eminently handsome, but for the 
 e} T es, that show sullen, if not sinister. These, like his 
 hair, are coal-black in color, though he rarely raises 
 their lids ; his gaze being habitually fixed on the cards 
 held in his hands. Once only has he looked up and 
 around, on hearing a name pronounced, — Montijo. 
 Two native Californians standing close behind him are 
 engaged in a dialogue, in which they incidental^ speak 
 of Don Gregorio. It is a matter of no moment, only a 
 slight allusion ; and, as their conversation is almost 
 instantly over, the monte dealer again drops his long 
 dark lashes, and goes on with the game, his features 
 resuming their wonted impassibility. 
 
 Though to all appearance immobile as those of the 
 sjminx, one watching him closely could see that there 
 
 14* 
 
162 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 is something in his mind besides month. For although 
 the play is running high, and large bets are being laid, 
 he seems regardless about the result of the game — for 
 this night only, since it has never been so before. His 
 air is at times abstracted, more than ever after hearing 
 that name ; while he deals out the cards carelessly, once 
 or twice making mistakes. But as these have been 
 trifling, and readily rectified, the players around the 
 •:able have taken no particular notice of them, nor yet 
 of his abstraction. It is not sufficiently manifest to 
 attract attention ; and, with the wonderful command 
 he has over himself, none of them suspect that he is at 
 that moment a prey to reflections of the strongest and 
 bitterest kind. 
 
 There is one, however, who is aware of it, knowing 
 the cause ; this, a man seated on the players' side of 
 the table, and directly opposite the dealer. He is a 
 personage of somewhat spare frame, a little below 
 medium height, of swarth complexion, and straight 
 black hair, to all appearance a native Californian, 
 though not wearing the national costume, but simply ^ 
 suit of black broadcloth. He lays his bets, staking 
 large sums, apparent!}' indifferent as to the result ; 
 while at the same time eying the deposits of the other 
 pla3 T ers with eager, nervous anxiety, as though their 
 losses and gains concerned him more than his own, — 
 the former, to all appearance, gladdening him ; the 
 .alter troubling him. His behavior might be deemed 
 &t range, and doubtless would, were there any one to 
 observe it. But there is not : each player is absorbed 
 m his own play, and the calculation of chances. In 
 addition to watching his fellow-gamesters around the 
 table, this eccentric individual ever and anon turns his 
 eye upon the dealer ; its expression at such times being 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 163 
 
 that of intense earnestness, with something that resem- 
 bles reproof, as though annoyed by the latter handling 
 his cards so carelessly, and would sharply rebuke him, 
 if he could get the opportunity without being observed ; 
 the secret of the whole matter being, that he is a sleep- 
 ing-partner in the monte bank, — the moneyed one, too, 
 most of its capital having been supplied by him : Lence 
 his indifference to the fate of his own stakes (for win- 
 ning or losing is all the same to him) , and his anxiety 
 about those of the general circle of pla}*ers. His part- 
 nership is not suspected, or, if so, only by the initiated. 
 Although sitting face to face with the dealer, no sign 
 of recognition passes between them ; nor is any speech 
 exchanged. The}- seem to have no acquaintance with 
 one another, beyond that begot out of the game. And 
 so the play proceeds, amidst the clinking of coin, and 
 clattering of ivory pieces ; these monotonous sounds 
 diversified by the calls, " Soto" this, and " Caballo " 
 that, with now and theri a u Carajo!" or, it may be, 
 " Just rny luck ! " from the lips of some mortified loser. 
 But, beyond such slight ebullition, ill temper does not 
 show itself, or, at all events, does not lead to any alter- 
 cation with the dealer. That would be dangerous, as all 
 are aware. On the table, close to his right elbow, rests 
 a double-barrelled pistol, both barrels of which are 
 loaded. And though no one takes particular notice of 
 it, any more than if it were a pair of snuffers on their 
 tray, or one of the ordinary implements of the game, 
 all know well enough that he who keeps this standing 
 symbol of menace before their e}~es is prepared to use 
 it on provocation. 
 
 It is ten o'clock, and the bank is in full blast. Up 
 to this hour, the players, in one thin row around the 
 tables, were staking only a few dollars at a time, a* 
 
164 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 skirmishers in advance of the main army, firing straj 
 shots from pieces of light calibre. Now the heavj 
 artillery has come up, the ranks have filled, and the 
 files become doubled around the different tables ; two 
 rows of pla}*ers, in places three, engaging in the game. 
 And instead of silver dollars, gold eagles and doub- 
 loons — the last being the great guns — are flung down 
 upon the green baize with a rattle continuous as the 
 firing of musketry. The battle of the night has begun. 
 
 But monte and faro are not the only attractions of 
 the El Dorado. The shrine of Bacchus — its drinking- 
 bar — has its worshippers as well ; a score of them 
 standing in front of it, with others constantly coming 
 and going. Among the latest arrivals are two 3'oung 
 men in the attire of navy officers. At a distance, it is 
 not easy to distinguish the naval uniforms of nations, 
 almost universally dark blue, with gold bands and but- 
 tons ; more especia% is it difficult when these are of 
 the two cognate branches of the great Anglo-Saxon 
 race, — English and American. While still upon the 
 street, the officers in question might have been taken 
 for either ; but once within the saloon, and under the 
 light of its numerous lamps, the special insignia on their 
 caps proclaim them as belonging to a British man-of- 
 war. And so do the} T , since they are Edward Crozier 
 and Willie Cadwallader. 
 
 They have entered without anj T definite design, fur- 
 ther than, as Crozier said, to "have a shot at the 
 tiger.' ' Besides, as the} T have been told, a night in 
 San Francisco would not be complete without a look in 
 at El Dorado. 
 
 Soon as inside the saloon, they step towards its 
 drinking-bar, Crozier saying, " Come, Cad, let's do 
 some sparkling." 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 165 
 
 " All right," responds the descendant of the Cymric 
 ais face already a little flushed with what they have had 
 at the Parker. 
 
 " Pint bottle of champagne ! " calls Crozier. 
 ; We've no pints here," saucily responds the bar- 
 keeper, a gentleman in shirt-sleeves, with gold buckles 
 on his embroidered braces, too grand to append the 
 courtesy of "sir." "Nothing less than quarts," he 
 deigns to add. 
 
 "A quart bottle, then," cries Crozier, tossing down 
 a doubloon to pa} r for it, — " a gallon, if you'll only 
 have the goodness to give it us." 
 
 The sight of the gold coin, with a closer inspection 
 of his customers, and perhaps some dread of a second 
 sharp rejoinder, secures the attention of the dignified 
 Californian Gairymede, who, relaxing his hauteur, 
 condescends to serve them. 
 
 While drinking the champagne, the j~oung officers 
 direct their eyes towards that part of the saloon occu- 
 pied by the gamesters. They see several clusters of 
 men collected around tables, some sitting, others stand- 
 ing. They know what it means, and that there is 
 ■monte in their midst. Though Cadwallader has often 
 heard of the game, he has never played it, or been a 
 spectator to its play. Crozier, who has both seen and 
 pla3'ed it, promises to initiate him. Tossing off their 
 glasses, and receiving the change (not much out of a 
 doubloon), they approach one of the monte tables, — 
 that in the centre of the saloon, around which there 
 are players, standing and sitting, three deep. It is 
 sonic time before they can squeeze through the two 
 outside concentric rings, and get within betting dis 
 tance of the table. Those already around it are not 
 men to be pushed rudely apart, or make way for a 
 
166 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 couple of youngsters, however fine their appearance, 
 or impatient their manner. In the circle are officers of 
 far higher rank than they, though belonging to a dif 
 ferent service, — naval captains and commanders, and, 
 of army men, majors, colonels, even generals. What 
 care these for a pair of boisterous subalterns? Or 
 what reck the rough gold-diggers and stalwart trappers 
 seen around the table for any or all of them ? It is a 
 chain, however ill assorted in its links, not to be severed 
 sans ceremonie ; and the young English officers must 
 bide their time. A little patience, and their turn will 
 come too. 
 
 Practising this, they wait for it with the best grace 
 they can, and not very long. One after another, the 
 infatuated gamesters get played out ; each, as he sees 
 his last dollar swept away from him by the ruthless 
 rake of the croupier, heaving a sigh, and retiring from 
 the table ; most of them with seeming reluctance, and 
 looking back, as a stripped traveller at the footpad who 
 has turned his pockets inside out. Soon the outer ring 
 is broken, leaving spaces between, into one of which 
 slips Crozier, Cadwallader pressing in alongside of him. 
 Gradually the}' squeeze nearer and nearer, till they are 
 ciose to the table's edge. Having at length attained a 
 position where they can conveniently place bets, they 
 ure about plunging their hands into their pockets for 
 tlie necessary stakes, when all at once the act is inter- 
 rupted. The two turn towards one another with eyes, 
 attitu le, every thing, expressing not only surprise, but 
 stark, speech-depriving astonishment ; for on the oppo- 
 site side of the table, seated in a grand chair, presiding 
 over the game, and dealing out the cards, Crozier sees 
 the man who has been making love to Carmen Montijo, 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 167 
 
 — his rival of the morning ; while at the same instant 
 Cadwallader has caught sight of his rival, — the suitor 
 of Iiiez Alvarez. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 FIGHTING THE TIGER. 
 
 AT sight of De Lara and Calderon, the young offi- 
 cers stand speechless, as if suddenly struck 
 dumb ; for a pang has shot through their hearts, bitter 
 as a poisoned shaft. Crozier feels it the keenest, since 
 it is an affair that most concerns him. The suitor of 
 Carmen Montijo a " sport," a common gambler ! Fa- 
 vored, or not, still an aspirant to her hand ; though it 
 were chagrin enough to think of such a man being even 
 on terms of acquaintance with her. Cadwallader is less 
 affected, though he, too, feels it. For although Calde- 
 ron is in the circle of outside players, — apparently a 
 simple wagerer, like the rest, — the companionship of 
 the morning, with the relations existing between the 
 two men, tell of their being socially the same. He 
 already knows his rival to be a blackguard : in ail 
 likelihood, he is also a blackleg. 
 
 Quick as thought itself, these reflections pass through 
 the minds of the English officers ; though for some 
 time neither says a word, their looks alone communi- 
 cating to each other what both bitterVv feel. Fortu- 
 nately, their surprise is not noticed by the players 
 around the table. Each is engrossed m his own play, 
 and gives but a glance at the new-comers, whose navaJ 
 
168 THE FLAG OP DISTEESS. 
 
 uniforms are not the only ones there. But there are 
 two who take note of them in a more particular man- 
 ner : these, Faustino Calcleron and Francisco de Lara. 
 Calderon, looking along the table. — for he is on that 
 same side, — regards them with glances furtive, almost 
 timid. Very different is the manner of De Lara. At 
 sight of Crozier, he suspends the deal, his face suddenly 
 turning pale, while a spark of angry light flashes forth 
 from his eyes. The passionate display is, to all appear- 
 ance, unobserved ; or, if so, it is attributed to some 
 trifling cause, as annoyance at the game going against 
 him. It is almost instantly over ; and the disturbed 
 features of the monte dealer resume their habitual 
 expression of stern placidity. 
 
 The young officers, having recovered from their first 
 ohock of astonishment, also have restored to them the 
 faculty of speech, and now exchange thoughts, though 
 not about that which so disturbs them. By a sort of 
 tacit understanding it is left to another time ; Crozier 
 only saying, " We'll talk of it when we get aboard 
 ship. That's the place for sailors to take counsel to- 
 gether, with a clear head, such as we want. At this 
 precious minute I feel like a fish out of water." 
 
 "By Jove! so do I." 
 
 "The thing we're both thinking of has raised the 
 devil in me. But let us not bother about it now. I've 
 got something else in nry mind. I'm half mad, ana 
 intend fighting the tiger." 
 
 " Fighting the tiger ! What do 3'ou mean by that, 
 Ned?" 
 
 " You'll soon s^ee. But, if you insist upon it, I'll 
 give you a little preliminary explanation.'" 
 
 " Yes, do. Perhaps I, can help you." 
 
 " No, you can't. There's only one who can." 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 169 
 
 "Who is he?" 
 
 " It's not a he, but a she, — the Goddess of Fortune. 
 I intend soliciting her favors. If she but grant them, 
 I'll smash Mr. De Lara's monte bank." 
 
 u Impossible ! There's no probability of }~our being 
 able to do that." 
 
 "Not much probability, I admit. Still there's a 
 possibility. I've seen such a thing done before now. 
 Bold play and big luck combined will do it. I'm in 
 for the first: whether I have the last remains to be 
 seen. In any case, I'll either break the bank, or 
 lose all I've got on me, which, b}~ chance, is a pretty 
 big stake to begin with. So here goes ! " 
 
 Up to this time, their conversation has been carried 
 on in a low tone ; no one hearing, or caring to listen 
 to it, all being too much absorbed in their own calcu- 
 lations to take heed of the bets o. r combinations of 
 others. If any one gives a glance at them, and sees 
 them engaged in their sotto-voce dialogue, it is but to 
 suppose they are discussing which card the t y had best 
 bet upon, — whether the Soto or Caballo, and whether it 
 would be prudent to risk a whole dollar, or limit their 
 lay to the more modest sum of fift}^ cent . They who 
 may have been thus conjecturing, with everybody else, 
 are taken by surprise, in fact somewhat startled, when 
 the older of the two officers, bending acros* tne taole, 
 tosses n hundred-pound Bank-of-England note upon the 
 baize, with as much noncha 1 ance as if it wore bat a 
 D re-dollar bill. 
 
 " Shall I give you checks for it? " asks the croupier 
 after examining the crisp note, — current ove^ all the 
 earth, — and knowing it good as gold. 
 
 " No," answers Crozier, " not yet. You can give 
 that after the bet's decided — if I win it. If not, yov 
 
 15 
 
170 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 can take the note. I place it on the Queen, against 
 the Knave." 
 
 The croupier, simply nodding assent, places the note 
 on the Queen. 
 
 During the interregnum in which this little incident 
 occurs, the English officers, hitherto scarce noticed, are 
 broadly stared at, and closely scrutinized, Ciozier be- 
 coming the C3*nosure of every e}'e. He stands it with 
 a placid tranquillity, which -ehows him as careless 
 about what the} 7 ma} r think him as he is of his cash. 
 Meanwhile, the cards have had a fresh shuffle, and the 
 deal begins anew ; all ej-es again turning upon the 
 game in earnest expectancy ; those who, like Crozier, 
 have placed upon the Queen, wishing her to show her 
 face first. And she does. 
 
 • L Caballo en la jyuerta mozo! " ("The Queen in the 
 door wins ! ") cries the dealer, the words drawled out 
 with evident reluctance ; while a flash of fierce anger is 
 seen scintillating in his ej-es. 
 
 ' ' Will 3'ou take it in checks ? ' ' asks the croupier, 
 addressing himself to Crozier, after settling the smaller 
 bets. " Or shall I pay you in specie? " 
 
 "You needn't pay 3-et. Let the note lie. Only 
 cover it with a like amount. I go it double, and again 
 upon the Queen." 
 
 Stakes are relaid ; some changed ; others left stand- 
 ing or doubled, as Crozier' s, which is now a bet for 
 two hundred pounds. On goes the game, the pieces 
 of smooth pasteboard slipping silently from the jewelled 
 lirgers of the dealer, whose eye is bent upon the cards, 
 as if he saw through them, or would if he could. 
 Whatever his wish, he has no power to change the 
 chances. If he have any professional tricks, fhere is 
 vo opportunity for him to practise them. There are 
 
A STOEY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 171 
 
 too many e}-es .ooking on, too man}' pistols and bowie- 
 knives around, too man}- men ready to stop any at- 
 tempt at cheating, and punish it if attempted. 
 
 A gain he is compelled to call out, ' ' Caballo en la 
 pue'ta mozo! '' 
 
 '• Now, sir," says the croupier to Crozier, after set- 
 tling other scores, u you want your money, I sup- 
 pose ? ' ' 
 
 "Not yet. I'm not pressed; and I can afford to 
 wait a little longer. I again go double, and am still 
 contented with my Queen." 
 
 The dealing proceeds, with four hundred pounds 
 iying on the Caballo to Crozier' s account, and ten 
 times as much belonging to other betters ; for, now 
 that the luck seems to be running with the English 
 officer, most lay their stakes beside his. 
 
 Once again, " Caballo en la puerta mozo!" And 
 again Crozier declines to take up his bet. 
 
 He has now sixteen hundred pounds sterling upon 
 the card ; while the others, thoroughly assured that his 
 luck is on the run, double theirs, till the bets against 
 the bank run up to many thousands. 
 
 De Lara begins to look anxious, and not a little 
 down-hearted. Still more anxious, and lower in heart, 
 appears one seated on the opposite side, — Calderon ; 
 for it is his mone}^that is moving away from him. On 
 the contraiy, Crozier is as cool as ever, his features set 
 in a rigid determination to do what he promised, — 
 break the bank, or lose all he has got about him. The 
 last not liketyyet ; for soon again comes the cry, " The 
 Queen winner!" 
 
 There is a pause longer than usual for the settling 
 of such a large score, and after it an interval of in- 
 action. The dealer seems inclined to discontinue ; for 
 
172 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 still lying upon the Queen is Crozier's stake, once mora 
 doubled, and now counting three thousand two hundred 
 pounds. Atked if he intends to let it remain, he 
 replies sneeringly, " Of course I do : I insist upon it. 
 And once more I go for the Queen. Let those who like 
 the Knave better, back him ! ' ' 
 
 " Go on, go on ! " is the cry around the table, from 
 many voices speaking in tone of demand. 
 
 De Lara glances at Calderon furtively, but, to those 
 observing it, with a look of interrogation. Whatever 
 the sign, or answer, it decides him to go on dealing. 
 The bets are again made ; to his disma}*, almost ever}-- 
 body laying upon the Queen, and, as before, increasing 
 their stakes. And in like proportion is heightened the 
 interest in the game. It is too intense for any display 
 of noisy excitement now. And there is less through- 
 out the saloon ; for many from the other tables, as all 
 the saunterers, have collected around, and, standing 
 several deep, gaze over one another's shoulders with 
 as much eager earnestness as if a man were expiring 
 in their midst. 
 
 The ominous call at length comes ; not in clear voice, 
 or tone exultant, but feeble, and as if wrung reluctantly 
 from the lips of the monte dealer ; for it is again a 
 verdict adverse to the bank: "Caballo en la puerta 
 mozo I * ' 
 
 As De Lira utters the words, he dashes the cards 
 iown, scattering them all over the table; then, rising 
 excitedly from his chair, adds in faltering tone, " Gen- 
 tlemen, I'm sorry to tell you — {he bank's broke 1 " 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 173 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 A PLUCKY "SPORT." 
 
 THE bank's broke. 
 Three words that have oft, too oft, startled the 
 ear, and made woe in many a heart. 
 
 At hearing them, the gamesters of the El Dorado, 
 seated around the month table, spring to their feet, as 
 if their chairs had suddenh- become converted into iron 
 at a white-heat. They rise simultaneously, as though 
 all were united in a chain, elbow and elbow together. 
 But, while thus gesturing alike, very different is the 
 expression upon their faces. Some simpry show sur- 
 prise ; others look incredulous ; while not a few give 
 evidence of anger. For an instant there is silence ; 
 the surprise, the incredulit} T , the anger, having sus- 
 pended speech — this throughout the saloon; for all, 
 bar-drinkers as well as gamesters, have caught the last 
 three words spoken by De Lara, and thoroughly under- 
 stand their import. No longer is heard the chink of 
 ivory checks, or the metallic ring of doubloons and 
 dollars ; no longer the thudding-down of decanters, 
 nor the jingle of glasses. Instead, a stillness so pro- 
 found, that one entering at this moment might fancy it 
 a Quaker's meeting, but for the S3^mbols seen around ; 
 these, any thing but Quakerish. Easier to conceive ii 
 a grand gambling-hell represented in wax- work. 
 
 The silence is of the shortest, as ulso the immo- 
 bility of the figures composing 1he different group, — 
 
174 THE FLAG OE DISTRESS. 
 
 only for a half-score seconds ; then there is noise 
 enough, with no end of gesticulation. A roar anses 
 that resounds through the room ; while men rush about 
 wildly, madly, as if in the court-yard of a lunatic asy- 
 lum. Some show anger, — those who are losers by the 
 break' ng of the bank. Many have won large bets ; 
 the stakes still lying on the table, which the}* know 
 will not be paid. The croupier has told them so, con- 
 fessing his cash-box cleared out at the last settlement ; 
 even this having been effected with the now useless 
 ivory checks. 
 
 Some gather up their gold or silver, and stow it in 
 safety, growling, but satisfied that things are no 
 worse. Others are not so lenient. They do not be- 
 lieve there is good cause for the suspension, and insist 
 upon being paid in full. They rail at the proprietor 
 of the bank, adding menace. De Lara is the man thus 
 marked. They see him before them, grandly dressed, 
 glittering with diamonds. They talk of stripping him 
 of his bijouterie. 
 
 "No, gentlemen!" he protests, with a sardonic 
 sneer; "not that, if you please — not yet. First 
 hear me ; and then 'twill be time for you to strike." 
 
 " What have 3*011 to sa # y?" demands one, with his 
 fists full of ivory counters, — the protested checks. 
 
 " Only that I'm not the owner of this bank, and 
 never have been." 
 
 " Who is, then? " ask several at the same time. 
 
 " Well, that I can't tell 3*011 just now ; and, wbg-'g 
 more, I won't. No, that I won't ! " 
 
 The gambler sa3*s this with emphasis, and an air of 
 sullen determination, that has its effect upon his ques 
 tioners, even the most importunate. For a time, it 
 eta}*s their talk, as well as acMon. Seeing this, he 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. J 75 
 
 follows it up with further speech, but more concilia- 
 tory. "As I've said, gentlemen, I'm not the owner 
 of this concern, only the dealer of the cards. You 
 ask who's proprietor of the smashed table. It's nat- 
 ural enough you should want to know ; but it's just 
 as natural, that it ain't nry business to tell you. If I 
 did, it would be a shabby trick ; and I take it }*ou're 
 all men enough t) see it in that light. If there's any 
 who isn't, he can have my card, and call upon me at 
 his convenience. My name's Francisco de Lara, or 
 Frank Lara, if 3*011 like, for short. I can be found 
 here, or am*where else in San Francisco, at such time 
 as may suit anxious inquirers. And if any wants me 
 now, and can't wait, I'm good this minute for pistols 
 acrors the table. Yes, gentlemen, any of you who'd 
 like a little amusement of that kind, let him come on ! 
 It'll be a change from the monte. For my part, I'm 
 tired of shuffling cards, and would like to rest my 
 lingers on a trigger. Which of 3*011 feels disposed to 
 give me the chance? Don't all speak at once ! " 
 
 No one feels disposed, and no one speaks ; at least 
 in hostile tone, or to take up the challenge. Instead, 
 half a score surround the "sport," and not only ex- 
 press their admiration of his pluck, but challenge him 
 to an encounter of drinks, not pistols. Turning to- 
 wards the bar, the}* Vociferate, '- Champagne ! " 
 
 Contented with the turn things have taken, and 
 proud at the voile}* of invitations, De Lara accepts ; 
 a ad soon the vintage of France is seen effervescing 
 from a dozen tall glasses ; and the monte dealer stands 
 drinking in the midst of his admirers. Other groups 
 i.U aw up to the bar-counter; while twos and solitary 
 tipplers fill the spaces between. The temple of For* 
 tuna is for a time deserted ; her worshippers t? ansfnr- 
 
176 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 ring their devotion to the shrine of Bacchus. The 
 losers drink to drown disappointment ; while the win- 
 ners quaff cups in the exhilaration of success. If a 
 bad night for the bank, it is a good one for the bar. 
 Decanters are quickly emptied, and bottles of many 
 kinds go " down among the dead men." 
 
 The excitement in the saloon is soon over. ' Occur- 
 rences of like kind — often of more tragical termina- 
 tion — are too common in California to cause an} T long- 
 sustained interest. Within the hour will arise some 
 new event, equally stirring, leaving the old to live only 
 in the recollection of those who have been active par- 
 ticipants in it. So with the breaking of Frank Lara's 
 bank. A stranger entering the saloon an hour after, 
 from what he there sees, cannot tell that an incident 
 of so serious nature has occurred ; for in less than this 
 time the same month table is again surrounded by 
 gamesters, as if its play had never been suspended. 
 The only difference observable is, that quite another 
 individual presides over it, dealing out the cards ; while 
 a new croupier has replaced him whose cash receipts so 
 suddenly ran short of his needed disbursements. The 
 explanation is simply, that there has been a change of 
 owners; another celebrated "sport" taking up the 
 abandoned bank, and opening it anew. With a few 
 exceptions, the customers are the same ; their number 
 not sensibly diminished. Most of the old players have 
 returned to it ; while the places of those who have 
 defected, and gone off to other gambling-resorts, are 
 tilled by fresh arrivals. A small number, who think 
 they have had play enough for that night, have left the 
 El Dorado Tor good. Among these are the English 
 officers, whose visit proved so prejudicial to the inter- 
 ests of the place. De Lara too, and Calderon. witt 
 
A STORY OF THE; SOUTR SE4. 177 
 
 ather confederates, have forsaken the saloor*. But 
 whither gone no one knows, or seems to care ; for the 
 fortunes of a fallen man soon cease to interest men 
 who are themselves madly struggling to mount up 
 
 CHAPTER XXni. 
 
 A SUPPER CARTE-BLANCHE. 
 
 ON parting from the El Dorado, Crozier and Cad- 
 wallader do not go directly aboard the " Cru- 
 sader." They know that their boat will be awaiting 
 them at the place appointed ; but the appointment is 
 for a later hour : and as the breaking of the monte 
 bank, with the incidents attendant, occupied but a 
 short half-hour, there will be time for them to see a 
 little more of San Franciscan life, — perhaps the last 
 chance they may have during their stay in the port. 
 They have fallen in with several other young officers^ 
 naval like themselves, though not of their own ship, 
 nor 3'et their own navy or nation, but belonging to 
 one cognate and kindred, — Americans. Through the 
 freemasomy of their common profession, with these 
 they have fraternized ; and it is agreed they shall all 
 sup together. Crozier has invited the Americans to a 
 repast the most recherche, as it is the costliest, that can 
 be obtained at the grandest hotel in San Francisco, 
 the Parker House. He adds, humorously, that he is 
 able to stand the treat. And well he may ; since, be- 
 sides the English money with which he entered the El 
 Dorado, he has brought thousands of dollars out of it. 
 
178 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 which would have been more, had all the ivory checks 
 been honored. As it is, his pockets are filled with 
 notes and gold, as also those of Cadwallader, who helps 
 him to carry the coin. Part of the heavy metal he 
 has been able to change into the more portable form 
 of bank-notes. Yet the two are still heavily weighted, 
 " laden like hucksters' donkeys, " jokingly remarks 
 Cadwallader, as they proceed towards the Parker. 
 
 A private room is engaged ; and, according to piom- 
 ise, Crozier bespeaks a repast of the most sumptuous 
 kind, with carte-blanche for the best wines, — champagne 
 at three guineas a bottle, hock the same, and South- 
 side Madeira still more. What difference to him? The 
 supper, ordered in the double-quick, soon makes its 
 appearance, — sooner in San Francisco than in airy 
 other city of the world, in better style too, and better 
 worth the money ; for the Golden City excels in the 
 science of gastronomy. Even then, amidst her canvas 
 sheds and weather-boarded houses, could be obtained 
 dishes of every kind known to Christendom or Pagan- 
 dom, — the cuisine of France, Spain, and Italy ; the 
 roast beef of Old England, as the pork and beans of 
 the New ; the gumbo of Guinea, and sauerkraut of 
 Germany, side by side with the swallow 's-nest soup 
 anc\ the sea-slugs of China. Had Lucullus but lived 
 in these days, he would have forsaken the banks of 
 the Tiber, and made California his home. 
 
 The repast furnished by the Parker House, however 
 splendid, has to be speedily despatched ; for, unfortu- 
 nately, time forbids the leisurely enjo^yment of the 
 viands, to a certain extent marring the pleasure of the 
 occasion. All the officers, American as English, have 
 to be on their respective ships at the stroke of twelve. 
 Reluctantly breaking up their hilarious company, they 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA I i V 
 
 prepare to depart. The}' have forsaken the supper 
 room, and passed on to the outer saloon of the hotel, 
 like all such, furnished with a drinking-bar. Before 
 separating, and while buttoning up against the chill 
 night-air, Crozier calls out, "Come, gentlemen, one 
 more glass ! The stirrup-cup ! " 
 
 In San Francisco this is always the wind-up to a 
 night of revelry. No matter how much wine has been 
 quaffed, the carousal is not deemed complete without 
 a last " statutory " drink, taken standing at the bar. 
 Giving way to the Californian custom, the officers range 
 themselves along the marble slab, bending over which, 
 the polite bar-keeper asks, " What is it to be, gentle- 
 men?" 
 
 There is a moment of hesitation : the gentlemen — 
 already well wined — scarce know what to 6all for. 
 Crozier cuts the Gordian knot by proposing, " A round 
 of punches a la Romaine! " 
 
 Universal assent to this delectable drink ; as all 
 know, just the thing for a nightcap. Soon the cooling 
 beverage, compounded with snow from the Sierra Ne- 
 vada, appears upon the counter, in huge glasses, piled 
 high with the sparkling crystals, a spoon surmount- 
 ing each ; for punch a la Romaine is not to be drunk, 
 but eaten. Shovelling it down in haste, adieus are 
 exchanged by a hearty shaking of hands, when the 
 American officers go off, leaving Crozier and Cad walla- 
 der in the saloon. These only sta}- to settle the account. 
 
 While standing by the bar, waiting for it to be 
 brought, they cast a glance around the room. At first 
 careless, i'; soon becomes concentrated on a group seen 
 at some distance off, near one of the doors leading out, 
 of which there are several. There are also several 
 other groups ; for the saloon is of large dimensions. 
 
180 THE FlAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 besides being the most popular place of resort in San 
 Francisco. And ibr San Francisco the hour is not yet 
 late. Along the line of the drinking-bar, and over the 
 white sanded floor, are some scores of people, of all 
 qualities and kinds, in almost every variety of costume. 
 They who compose the party that has attracted the 
 attention of the English officers show nothing particu- 
 lar ; that is, to the e} T e of one unacquainted with 
 them. There are four of them ; two wearing broad- 
 cloth cloaks, the other two having their shoulders 
 shrouded under serapes. Nothing in all that. The 
 night is cold, indeed wet ; and they are close to the 
 door, to all appearance intending soon to step out. 
 They have only paused to exchange a parting word, as 
 if the}- designed to separate before issuing into the 
 street. 
 
 Though the spot where the}- stand is in shadow, a 
 folding screen separating it from the rest of the saloon, 
 and it is not eas} r to get sight of their faces, — the 
 difficulty increased b}- broad-brimmed hats set slouch- 
 ingty on their heads, with their cloaks and serapes 
 drawn up around their throats, — Crozier and Cadwalla- 
 der have not only seen, but recognized them. A glance 
 at their countenances, caught before the muffling was 
 made, enabled the } T oung officers to identify three of 
 them as De Lara, Calderon, and the ci-devant croupier 
 of the monte bank. The fourth, whose face they have 
 also seen, is a personage not known to them, but 
 judging by his features, a suitable associate for the 
 other three. Soon as catching sight of them, which he 
 is the first to do, Crozier whispers to his companion, 
 u See, Will ! Look yonder ! Our frier ds from the El 
 Dorado! " 
 
 " By Jove ! them, sure enough. Do jou third* 
 they're following us? " 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 181 
 
 -* I shouldn't wonder. 1 was only surprised they 
 didn't do something when they had us in their gam- 
 bling den. After the hea^y draw I made on Mr. Lara's 
 bank, I expected no less than that he'd try to renew 
 his acquaintance with me, all the more from his hav 
 ing been so free of it in the morning. Instead, he and 
 his friend seem to have studiously avoided corning near 
 us, not even casting a look in our direction. That 
 rather puzzles me." 
 
 " It needn't. After what }*ou gave him, I should 
 think he'd feel shy of another encounter." 
 
 " No : that's not it. Blackleg though the fellow be, 
 he's got game in him. He gave proof of it in the El 
 Dorado, defying and backing eveiybody out. It was 
 an exhibition of real courage, Will ; and, to tell the 
 truth, I couldn't help admiring it — can't now. "When 
 1 saw him presiding over a gambling-table, and dealing 
 out the cards, I at once made up my mind that it would 
 never do to meet him, even if he challenged me. 
 Now I've decided differently ; and, if he call me out, 
 I'll give him a chance to recover a little of his lost 
 reputation. I will, upon my honor ! " 
 
 "But wiry should 3~ou? A 'sport,' a professional 
 gambler ! The thing would be simply ridiculous." 
 
 " Nothing of the kind, — not here in California. On 
 the contrary, I should cut a more ridiculous figure by 
 refusing him satisfaction. It remains to be seen 
 whether he'll seek it according to the correct code." 
 
 "That he won't: at least, I don't think he will. 
 From the way the four have got their heads together, 
 it looks as if they meant mischief now. They may 
 have been watching their opportunity^ — to get us two 
 alone. What a pity we didn't see them before our 
 friends went off! Thej^'re good fellows, those Yanket 
 ollicers, and would have stood by us." 16 
 
.182 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 " No doubt they would. But it's too late now 
 They're be^yond hailing-distance ; and we must take care 
 of ourselves. Get your dirk ready, Will, and have 
 your hand close to the butt of one of Mr. De Lara's 
 shooting-irons." 
 
 " I have it that way. Never fear. Wouldn't it be 
 a good joke if I have to give the fellow a pill out ff 
 one of his own pistols ? ' ' 
 
 " No joking matter to us, if they're meditating an 
 attack. Though we disarmed him in the morning, he'll 
 be freshly provided, and with weapons in plcnt} T . I'll 
 warrant each of the four has a battery concealed under 
 his cloak. They appear as if they're concocting some 
 scheme, which we'll soon know all about — likely- be- 
 fore leaving the room. Certainly they're up to some- 
 thing." 
 
 "Four hundred and 'ninety dollars, gentlemen!" 
 The financial statement is made by the bar-keeper, pre- 
 senting the bill. 
 
 " There ! " cries Crozier, flinging down a five-hun- 
 dred-dollar-bill. " Let that settle it. You can keep 
 the change for yourself." 
 
 " Thank ye," dryly responds the Californian dispens- 
 er of drinks, taking the ten-dollar- tip with less show 
 of gratitude than a London waiter would give for a 
 fourpenny-piece — little as that may be. 
 
 Turning to take departure, the young officers again 
 look across the saloon, to learn how the hostile party 
 has disposed itself. To their surprise, the gamblers 
 are gone, having disappeared while the account waa 
 Deing receipted. 
 
 " I don't like the look of it," says Crozier in a 
 whisper; "less now than ever. No doubb we'll find 
 them outside. Well, we can't stay here all night. If 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 183 
 
 they attack us, we must do our best. Take a firmgrrji 
 of your pistol, with your finger close to the trigger, 
 and, if airy of them shows sign of shooting, see that 
 you fire first. Follow me, and keep close ! " 
 
 On the instant of delivering these injunctions, Cro- 
 zier starts towards the door, his companion following, 
 as directed. Both salty out, and for a while stand gaz- 
 ing around them. People they see in numbers, seme 
 Jounging by the hotel porch, others passing along the 
 street, but none in cloaks or serapes. The gamblers 
 must have gone clear awa}'. 
 
 " After all, we may have been wronging them," 
 remarks Crozier, as, in his nature, giving wa}'to a gen- 
 erous impulse. i ' I can hardly think that a fellow who's 
 shown such courage would play the assassin. Maybe 
 they were but putting; their heads together about chal- 
 lenging us? If that's it, we may expect to hear from 
 them in the morning. It looks all right. An3 r how, we 
 can't stay dallying here. If we're not aboard by eight 
 bells, old Bracebridge'll masthead us. Let's heave 
 along, my hearty! " 
 
 So saying, the senior officer leads off, Cadwallader 
 close on his quarter, both a little unsteady in their 
 eteps, partly from being loaded with the spoils of El 
 Dorado, and partly from the effects of the Parker House 
 wines, and pnnches n la Bomaine. 
 
184 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 HARRY BLEW HOMELESS. 
 
 WHILE 1;he exciting scene described as taking 
 place in the El Dorado was at its height, 
 Harry Blew went past the door. Could the sailor have 
 seen through walls, he would have entered the saloon. 
 The sight of his former officers would have attracted 
 him inside, there to remain, for more reasons than 
 one. Of one he had already thought. Conjecturing 
 that the young gentleman might be going on a bit of 
 a spree, and knowing the dangers of such in San Fran 
 cisco, it had occurred to him to accompany, or keep 
 close after them, in order that he might be at hand, 
 should they come into collision with an}' of the roughs 
 and rowdies thick upon the street. Unfortunately this 
 idea, like that of asking them for a cash loan, had 
 come too late ; and they were out of sight ere he could 
 take airy steps towards its execution. A glance into 
 the gambling-saloon would have brought both opportu- 
 nities back again ; and, instead of continuing to wan- 
 der hungry through the streets, the sailor would have 
 had a splendid supper, and after it a bed, either in 
 some respectable hostelry, or his old bunk aboard the 
 " Crusader." It was not to be. While passing the 
 El Dorado, he could know nothing of the friends that 
 were so near ; and, thus unconscious, he leaves the 
 glittering saloon behind, and a half-score others lighted 
 with like brilliancy. For a while longer, he saunters 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 185 
 
 Blowly about, in the hope of yet encountering the 
 officers. Several times he sees men in uniform, and 
 makes after them, only to find they are not English. 
 At length, giving it up, he quickens his pace, and 
 strikes for the office of the ship-agent, which he knows 
 to be in the street fronting the water. As San Fran- 
 cisco is not like an old seaport, where house-room is 
 cheap and abundant, but every foot of roof-shelter 
 utilized by night as by day, there is a chance the office 
 may still be open. In all probability the agent sleeps 
 by the side of his ledger, or, if not, likely enough one 
 of his clerks ; in which case he, Harry Blew, ma} T be 
 allowed to lie along the floor, or get a shake-down in 
 some adjoining shed. He would be but too glad to 
 stretch himself on an old sack, a naked bench, or, for 
 that matter, sit upright in a chair ; for he is now fairly 
 fagged out perambulating the unpaved streets of that 
 inhospitable port. 
 
 Tacking from corner to corner, now and then hitch- 
 ing up his trousers to give freer play to his feet, he at 
 length comes out upon the street which fronts towards 
 the bay. In his week's cruising about the town, he 
 has acquired some knowledge of its topography, and 
 knows well enough where he is, but not the office of 
 the shipping-agent. It takes him a considerable time 
 to find it. Along the water's edge the houses are ir- 
 regularly placed, and numbered with like irregularity. 
 Besides, there is scarce any light. The night has be- 
 come dark, with a sky densely clouded ; and the street- 
 lamps, burning whale-oil, are dim, and at long distances 
 apart. It is with difficulty he can make out the figures 
 upon the doors. However, he is at length successful, 
 and deciphers on one the number he is in search of, as 
 also the name "Silvestre" painted on a piece of tin 
 attached to the side-post. ]6* 
 
186 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 A survey of the house, indeed, a single glance at 
 it, convinces him he has come thither to no purpose. 
 It is a small wooden structure, not much bigger than a 
 sentry-box, evidently only an office, with no capability 
 of conversion to a bedroom. Still it has room enough 
 to admit of a man's lying at full-length along its flcor ; 
 and, as already said, he would be glad of so disposing 
 himself for the night. There may be some one inside, 
 though the one window, in size corresponding to the 
 shanty itself, looks black and forbidding. With no 
 very sanguine hope, he lays hold of the door-handle, 
 and gives it a twist. Locked, as he might have ex- 
 pected ! The test does not satisfy him, and he knocks, 
 at "first timidly, then a little bolder and louder ; finally 
 giving a good round rap with his knuckles, hard as 
 horn. At the same time he hails, sailor-fashion, — 
 
 " Ahoy, there ! Be there any one within?" This in 
 English ; but, remembering that the ship-agent is a 
 Spaniard, he follows his first hail with another in the 
 Spanish tongue, adding the usual formulary, — 
 
 " Ambrela puerta!" Neither to the question nor 
 the demand is there any response ; only the echo of 
 his own voice reverberated along the line of houses, 
 and dying away in the distance, as it mingles with the 
 sough of the sea. No use speaking or knocking again. 
 Undoubtedly Silvestre's office is closed for the night ; 
 and his clerks, if there be any, have their sleeping- 
 quarters elsewhere. Forced to this conclusion, though 
 sadly dissatisfied with it, the ex-man-o'-war s-mau 
 turns away from the door, and once more goes cruising 
 along the streets. But now, with no definite point to 
 steer for, he makes short tacks and turns, like a ship 
 sailing under an unfavorable wind, or as one disregard- 
 ing the guidance of the compass, without steersman at 
 &e wheel. 
 
A. STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 187 
 
 After beating about for nearly another hour, he dis- 
 covers himself again contiguous to the water's edge. 
 His instincts have conducted him thither, as the seal, 
 after a short inland excursion, finds its vrtiy back to 
 the beach. Ah, if he could only swim like a seal ! 
 This thought occurs to him as he stands looking over 
 the sea in the direction of the '' Crusader." Were it 
 possible to reach the frigate, all his troubles would soon 
 be forgotten in the cheerful companionship of his old 
 chums of the forecastle. It can't be. The man-of-war 
 is anchored more than two miles off. Strong swimmer 
 though he knows himself to be, it is too far. Besides, 
 a fog has suddenly sprung up, overspreading the bay ; 
 so that the ship is hidden from his sight. Even those 
 lying close inshore can be but faintly discerned through 
 its film, and only the larger spars ; the smaller ones, 
 with the rigging-ropes, looking like the threads of a 
 spider's web. 
 
 Down-hearted, almost despairing, Harry Blew halts 
 upon the beach. What is he to do ? Lie down on the 
 sand, and there go to sleep ? There are times, when, 
 on the shores of San Francisco Bay, this would not be 
 much of a hardship ; but now it is the season of 
 winter, when the great Pacific current, coming from 
 latitudes farther north, rolls in through the Golden 
 Gate, bringing with it fogs that spread themselves over 
 the estuary inside. Although not frosty, these are 
 cold enough to be uncomfortable ; and the haze now is 
 accompanied by a chill, drizzling rain. Standing under 
 it, Harry Blew feels he is fast getting wet. If he do 
 not obtain shelter, he will soon be soaked to the skin. 
 Looking around, his e^e rests upon a boat which lies 
 bottom upward on the beach. It is an old ship's 
 launch that has bilged, and either been abandoned a& 
 
188 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 useless, or upturned to receive repairs. No matter 
 what its history, it offers him the hospitality so scurvily 
 refused by the Sailor's Home. If it cannot give him 
 supper or bed, it will be some protection against th? 
 rain, that has now commenced coming down in big 
 clouting drops. This deciding him, he creeps under 
 the capsized launch, and lays himself at full-length 
 along the shingle. 
 
 The spot upon which he has stretched himself is soft 
 as a feather-bed. Still he does not fall asleep. The 
 rain, filtering through the sand, soon finds its way 
 under the boat, and, saturating his couch, makes it 
 uncomfortable. This, with the cold night-air, keeps 
 him awake. He lies listening to the sough of the sea, 
 and the big drops pattering upon the planks above. 
 Not long before other sounds salute his ear, distin- 
 guishable as human voices, — men engaged in conver- 
 sation. As he continues to listen, the voices grow 
 louder, those who converse evidently drawing nearer. 
 In a few seconds they are by the boat's side, where 
 they come to a stand. But, though they have paused 
 in their steps, they continue to talk in an excited, ear- 
 nest tone, so loud that he can hear every word they 
 say, though the speakers are invisible to him. The 
 capsized boat is not so flush with the sand as to pre 
 vent him from seeing the lower part of their legs, from 
 belc vv the knees downward. Of these there are four 
 pairs, two of them in trousers of the ordinary kind, the 
 other two in calzoneras of velveteen bordered at the 
 bottom with black stamped leather. But that all four 
 men are Californians or Spaniards, he can tell by the 
 language in which they are conversing, — Spanish. A 
 lucky chance that he understands something of this, if 
 not for himself, for the friends who are dear to him. 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 189 
 
 The first intelligible speech that reaches his ear is an 
 i nterrogatory , 
 
 " You're sure, Calderon, they'll come this way?" 
 
 " Quite sure, De Lara. When I stood by them at 
 the hotel-bar, I heard the younger of the two tell one 
 of the American officers that their boat was to meet 
 ihera at the wooden muello, the new pier, as 3*011 know 
 To reach that, the}' must pass by here : there's no 
 other way. And it can't be long before they make 
 appearance. They were leaving the hotel at the time 
 we did ; and where else should the}' go ? " 
 
 " No knowing " — this from the voice of a third in- 
 dividual. " They may stay to take another copita, or 
 half a dozen. These Ingleses can drink like fish, and 
 don't seem to feel it." 
 
 -- The more they drink, the better for us," remarks 
 a fourth. " Our work will be the easier." 
 
 " It may not be so easy, Don Manuel," puts in De 
 Lara. "Young as the}' are, they're very devils both. 
 Besides, they're well armed, and will battle like grizzly 
 bears. I tell you, camaraclos, we'll have work to do 
 before we get back our money." 
 
 -•But do you intend killing them, De Lara?" asks 
 Calderon. 
 
 " Of course ! We mast, for our own sakes. 'Twould 
 be madness not, even if we could get the money with- 
 out it. The older, Crozier, is enormously rich, I've 
 heard ; could afford to buy up all the law there is in 
 San Francisco. If we let them escape, he'd have the 
 police after us like hounds upon a trail. Even if they 
 shouldn't recognize us now, they'd be sure to suspect 
 who it was, and make the place too hot to hold us, 
 Caspita! It's not a question of choice, but a tiling of 
 uecessity. We must kill t7iem, I ' ' 
 
190 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 Harry Blew hears the cold-blooded determination, 
 comprehending it in all its terrible significance. It 
 tells him the young officers are still in the town, and 
 that these four men are about to wa} T lay, rob, and 
 murder them. What they mean by " getting back the 
 mone} r " is the only thing he does not comprehend. It 
 is made clear as the conversation continues. 
 
 " I'm sure there's nothing unfair in taking lack our 
 own. I, Frank Lara, say so. It was the} 7 who brought 
 about the breaking of our bank, which was done in a 
 mean, dastardty wa3 T . The Englishman had the luck ; 
 and all the others of his kind went with him. But for 
 that, we could have held out. It's no use our whining 
 about it. We've lost, and must make good our losses 
 best way we can. We can't, and be safe ourselves, if 
 we let these gringos go." 
 
 " Chingara! we'll stop their breath, and let there be 
 no more words about it." 
 
 The merciless verdict is in the voice of Don Manuel. 
 
 " You're all agreed, then?" asks De Lara. 
 
 " /S7, si, si! is the simultaneous answer of assent, 
 Calderon alone seeming to give it with some reluc- 
 tance ; though he hesitates from timidity, not merc} T . 
 
 Harry Blew now knows all. The officers have been 
 gaming, have won mone} T ; and the four fellows who 
 talk so coolly of killing them are the banker and hia 
 confederates. What is he to do ? How can he sava 
 the doomed men. Both are armed. Crozier has hi8 
 swoiA ; Cadwallader, his dirk. Besides, they have pis- 
 tols, as he saw while they were talking to him at the 
 Sailor's Home. But then they are to be taken un- 
 awares, — shot or struck down in the dark, without a 
 chance of seeing the hand that strikes them ! Even if 
 warned and read}', it would be two against four : and 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 191 
 
 he is himself altogether unarmed ; for his jack-knife is 
 gone — hypothecated to pay for his last jorum of grog. 
 And the young officers have been drinking freely, as he 
 gathers from what the ruffians have said. They may 
 be inebriated, or enough so to put them off their guard. 
 Who would be expecting assassination? Who ever is, 
 save a Mexican himself? Altogether unlikely that they 
 should be thinking of such a thing. On the contrary, 
 disregarding danger, they will come carelessly on, to 
 fall like ripe corn before the sickle of the reaper. The 
 thought of such a fate for his friends fills the sailor 
 with apprehension, and again he asks himself how it 
 is to be averted. 
 
 The four conspirators are not more than as many 
 feet from the boat. By stretching out his hands, he 
 could grip them by the ankles, without altering his re 
 cumbent attitude one inch. By doing this, he might 
 give the guilty plotters such a scare as would cause 
 them to retreat, and so baffle their design. The thought 
 flits across his brain, but is instantly abandoned. 
 They are not of the stuff to be frightened at shadows. 
 By their talk, at least two are desperadoes ; and to make 
 known his presence would be only to add another vie 
 tim to those already doomed to death. What is he io 
 do? For the third time he asks himself this question, 
 still unable to answer it. While painfully cogitating, 
 his brain laboring to grasp some feasible plan of de- 
 fence against the threatened danger, he is warned of a 
 change. Some words spoken tell of it. It is De Lara 
 who speaks them. 
 
 "By the way, camarados, we're not in a gjod posi- 
 tion here. They may sight us too soon. To make 
 things sure, we must drop on them before they can 
 draw their weapons, else some of us may gel dropped 
 ourselves.' ' 
 
192 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 "Where could we be better? I don't see. The 
 shadow of this old boat favors us." 
 
 "■ Why not crawl undsr it? " asks Calderon. " There 
 Argus himself couldn't see us." 
 
 Harry Blew's heart beats at the double-quick. Hid 
 time seems come ; and he already fancies four pistols 
 at his head, or the same number of poniards pointing to 
 his ribs. 
 
 It is a moment of vivid anxiety, — a crisis, dread, 
 terrible, almost agonizing. Fortunately, it is not of 
 long duration, ending almost on the instant. lie is 
 relieved at hearing one of them sa}-, "No; that won't 
 do : we'd have trouble in scrambling out again. While 
 about it, they'd sec or hear us, and take to their heels. 
 You must remember, it's but a step to where their boat 
 will be waiting them, with some eight or ten of those 
 big British tars in it. If they got there before we 
 overtook them, the tables would be turned on us." 
 
 " You're right, Don Manuel," rejoins De Lara. " It 
 won't do to go under the boat ; and there's no need for 
 as to stay b}' it. Mira ! yonder's a better place, by 
 that wall. In its shadow no one can see us ; and the 
 gringos must pass within twenty feet of it. It's the 
 ^ery spot for our purpose. Come ! " 
 
 No one objecting, the four figures start away from 
 the side of the ) oat, and, gliding silently as spectres 
 across the strip of sandy beach, disappear within the 
 dark shadow of the wall. 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 193 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 CRUSADERS TO THE RESCUE. 
 
 Wri AT am I to do ? It is the ex-man o'-wai^s 
 man, still lying under the launch, who thus 
 interrogates himself for the fourth time, and more em- 
 phatically than ever, but also in less dubious accent, 
 and less despairingly. True, t) c conspiring assassins 
 have only stepped aside to a spot from which they may 
 more conveniently descend upon their quarry, and be 
 surer of striking it ; but their changed position has 
 left him free to change his, which he at length deter- 
 mines upon doing. Their talk has told him where the 
 man-of-war's boat will be awaiting to take the officers 
 back to their ship. He knows the new wharf referred 
 to, the very stair at which the "Crusaders" have been 
 accustomed to bring their boats to. It may be the 
 cutter with her full crew of ten, or it ma}^ be but the 
 gig : no matter which. There cannot be fewer than 
 two oarsmen, and these will be sufficient. A brace of 
 British tars, with himself to make three, and the offi- 
 cers to tot up live : that will be more than a match for 
 four Spanish Californians. Four times four, thinks 
 Harry Blew, even though the sailors, like himself, be 
 Hummed, or with nothing but their knives and boat- 
 hooks. He has no fear, if he can but bring it to an 
 encounter of this kind. The question is, Can he do 
 so? And, first, can he creeo out from under the launch, 
 and steal away unobserved r A glance from under his 
 
 17 
 
194 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 sheltering boat towards the spot where the assassins 
 have placed themselves in ambuscade satisfies hi in 
 that he can. The fog favors him. . Through it he can- 
 not see them, and should be himself equally invisible. 
 Another favorable circumstance, — on the soft, sandy 
 beach his footsteps will make but slight noise, not 
 enough to be heard above the continuous surging of the 
 surf. All this passes in a moment ; and he has made 
 up his mind to start, but is stayed b} T a new apprehen- 
 sion. Will he be in time? The stair at which the 
 boat should be is not over a quarter of a mile off, and 
 will take but a few minutes to reach it. Even if he 
 succeed in eluding the vigilance of the ambushed vil- 
 lains, will it be possible for him to get to the pier, 
 communicate with the boat's crew, and bring them 
 back before the officers reach the place of ambush? 
 To this, the answer is doubtful ; and the doubt appalls 
 him. In his absence, the young gentlemen may arrive 
 at the fatal spot. He ma} T return to find their bodies 
 lying lifeless along the sand, their pockets rifled, the 
 plunderers and murderers gone. 
 
 The thought holds him irresolute, hesitating what 
 course to take. Shall he remain till they are heard 
 approaching, then rush out, and give them such warn- 
 ing as he may, throw himself by their side, and do his 
 best to defend them? Unarmed, this would not be 
 much, Against pistols and poniards, he would scarce 
 count as a combatant. It might but end in all three 
 being slaughtered together. And there is still a dan- 
 ger of his being discovered in his attempt to steal 
 awa}^ from his place of concealment. He ma} T be fol- 
 lowed and overtaken, though he has little fear of this. 
 Pursued he may be, but not overtaken. Despite his 
 sea -legs, he knows himself a swift runner. Were he 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 195 
 
 assured of a fair start, he "will hold his distance against 
 any thing Spanish or Californiau. In five minutes he 
 can reach the pier; in five more, be back. If he but 
 find the "Crusaders" there, a word will warn them. 
 In all, it might take about ten minutes. But. mean- 
 while, Crozier and Cadwallader ma) get upon the 
 ground ; and one minute after that all would be o\ er. 
 A terrible struggle agitates the breast of the old man- 
 o'-war's man : in his thoughts is a conflict agonizing. 
 On either side are pros and cons, requiring calm delib- 
 eration ; and there is no time for this. He must act. 
 
 But one more second spent in consideration. He 
 has confidence in the 3 T oung officers. Both are brave 
 as lions, and, if attacked, will make a tough fight of it. 
 Crozier has also caution, on which dependence may be 
 placed ; and at such a time of night he will not be 
 going unguardedly. The conflict, though unequal, might 
 last long enough for him, Harry Blew, to bring the 
 " Crusaders" at least near enough to cry out, and cheer 
 their officers with the hope of help at hand. All this 
 passes through his mind in a tenth part of the time it 
 takes to tell it. And, having resolved how to act, he 
 hastens to carry out his resolution ; which is to pro- 
 ceed in quest of the boat's crew. 
 
 Sprawling like a lizard from beneath the launch, he 
 glides off silently along the strand, — at first with 
 slow, caulious steps, and crouchingly ; but soon erect, 
 in a rapid run, as if for the saving of his life ; for it is 
 lo save the lives of others almost dear as his own. 
 The five minutes are not up, when his footsteps patter 
 along the planking of the hollow wooden wharf. In 
 ten seconds after, he stands at the head of the sea- 
 stairwaj', looking down. Below is a boat with men in 
 it, half a score of them seated on the thwarts soma 
 
196 THE FLAG OF DISTKESS. 
 
 lolling over against the gunwales, asleep. At a glanc€ 
 he can tell them to be " Crusaders." His hail startles 
 them into activit} T , one and all recognizing the voice 
 of their old shipmate. "Quick!" he cries; "quick, 
 mates ! Come along with me ! Don't stay to ask 
 questions. Enough for 3^011 to know that the lives of 
 your officers are in danger." 
 
 It proves enough. The tars don't wait for a word 
 more, but spring up from their recumbent attitude, 
 and out of the boat. Rushing up the steps, the}' clus- 
 ter around their comrade. The}' have not needed in- 
 structions to arm themselves. Harry's speech, with 
 its tone, tells of some shore hostility ; and they have 
 instinctively made ready to meet it. Each has laid 
 hold of the weapon nearest to his hand ; some a knife, 
 some an oar, others a boat-hook. 
 
 "Heave along with me, lads!" cries Blew; and 
 they " heave at his heels, rushing after, as if to extin- 
 guish a fire in the forecastle. 
 
 Soon they are coursing along the strand, towards 
 the upturned boat, silently, and without asking expla- 
 nation. If they did, they could not get it ; for their 
 leader is panting, breathless, almost unable to utter 
 a word. But five issue from his throat, jerked out 
 disjointedly, and in hoarse utterance They are, 
 " Crozier — Cadwallader — waylaid — robbers — mur- 
 derers ! " 
 
 Enough to spur the " Crusaders " to their best speed, 
 if they had not been already at it. But they are ; every 
 man of them straining his strength to the utmost. As 
 they rush on, clearing the thick fog, Harry, at their 
 head, listens intently. As yet he hears no sound, only 
 th? monotonous swashing of the sea, and the murmur 
 of distant voices in the streets of the town. But no 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 197 
 
 pries, no shouts, nor shots ; nothing to tell of deadly 
 strife. 
 
 "Thank the Lord!" says the brave sailor, half 
 speaking to himself: " we'll be in time to save them." 
 The words have scarce passed from his lips, when he 
 oomes in sight of the capsized launch ; and simultane- 
 ously he sees two figures upon the beach beyond. They 
 are of human shape, but through the fog looking large 
 as giants. He is not beguiled 03* the deception : he 
 knows them to be the forms of the two officers magnified 
 by the mist. No others are likely to be coming that 
 wa}', for he can perceive they are approaching; and 
 as can be told by their careless, swaggering gait, un- 
 suspicious of danger, little dreaming of an ambuscade, 
 that in ten seconds more may deprive them of exist- 
 ence. 
 
 To him, hunwing to prevent this catastrophe, it is a 
 moment of intense apprehension, — of dread, chilling 
 fear. He sees the young officers almost up to the 
 place where the assassins should spring out upon them. 
 In another instant he ma}' hear the cracking of pistols, 
 and see their flashes through the fog. Expecting it 
 even before he can speak, he nevertheless calls out, 
 " Halt there, Mr. Crozier ! We're ' Crusaders.' Stop 
 where 3*011 are. Another step, and 3-011' 11 be shot a". 
 There's four men under that wall, waiting to murder 
 ye. D'3*e know the names, — Calderon and Lara ? It's 
 them! " 
 
 At the first words the young officers — for it is they 
 — instantl}- stop ; the more promptly from being pre- 
 pared to anticipate an attack, but without the warning. 
 Well timed it is ; and they have not stopped a moment 
 too soon. Simultaneous with the sailor's last speech, 
 the sombre space under the wall is lit up by four flash* 
 
 17* 
 
198 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 es, followed by the :eport of as many pistols ; whiles 
 the " tzip-tzip " of bullets, like hornets hurtling past 
 their ears, leaves them no doubt as to who has been 
 fired at. Fired at, and fortunately missed ; for neither 
 feels hurt nor hit. But the danger is not yet over. 
 Quick following the first comes a second A T olley, and 
 again with like result. Bad marksmen are they who 
 design doing murder. It is the last. In all likelihood, 
 the pistols of the ass assins are double-barrelled ; and 
 both barrels have been discharged. Before they can re- 
 load them, Harry Blew with the ' ' Crusaders ' ' have come 
 up ; and it is too late for De Lara and his confederates 
 to employ their poniards. Crozier and Cadwallader 
 bound forward, and, placing themselves at the head of 
 the boat's crew, advance toward the shadowed spot. 
 The } T oung officers have long since drawn their pistols, 
 but prudently retained their fire, seeing nothing sure to 
 aim at. Now they go with a rush, resolved on coming 
 to close quarters with their dastardly assailants, and 
 bringing the affair to a speed}" termination. But it is 
 over alreadj r , to their surprise, as also chagrin. On 
 i caching the wall, the} r find nothing there save stones 
 and timber. The dark space, for an instant illuminated 
 by the pistol-flashes, has resumed its grim obscurity. 
 The assassins have got awa}-, escaping the chastisement 
 they would surely have received, had they stood their 
 ground. Some figures are seen in the distance, scut- 
 tling along a narrow lane. Crozier brings his revolver 
 to bear on them, his finger upon the trigger. But it 
 may not be them ; and, stayed by the uncertainty, he 
 refrains from firing. " Let them go ! " he says, return- 
 ing the pistol to his pocket. " 'Twould be no use 
 looking for them now. Their crime will keep till 
 morning : and, since we know their names, it will be 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 199 
 
 strange if we can't find them, though not so strange if 
 we should fail to get them punished. That they shall be, 
 if there's a semblance of law to be found in San Fran- 
 cisco. — Now, thanks, my brave 'Crusaders!' And 
 there's a hundred pound-note to be divided among 3-ou. 
 Small reward for the saving of two lives with a goodly 
 sum of money. Certainly, had 3-011 not turned up so 
 opportunely — But how came you to be here ? Never 
 mind now! Let us get aboard; and you, Blew, must 
 come with us. It'll do you no harm to spend one more 
 night on your old ship. There 3-011 can tell me all." 
 
 Harry joyfully complies with a requisition so much 
 to his mind ; and, instead of tossing discontentedly on 
 a couch of wet sand, he that night sleeps soundty in 
 his old bunk in the frigate's forecastle. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 IN FLIGHT. 
 
 A COUNTRY-HOUSE ten miles distant from San 
 Francisco, in a south-westerly direction. It 
 stands back from the ba3% halfway between it and the 
 Pacific ; among the Coast Range hills. Though built of 
 mud-brick, — the sort made b} r the Israelites in Eg3~pt, 
 — and with no pretension to architectural st3'le, it is, in 
 Californian parlance, a hacienda; for it is the head- 
 quarters of a grazing estate, though not one of the 
 first class, either in stock or appointments. In both 
 respects, it was once better off than now ; since now 
 it is less than second, showing signs of dtcay every 
 
200 THE FJ AG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 where, but nowhere so much as in the house itself, an v 
 the enclosures around it. The walls are weather 
 washed, here and there cracked and crumbling: the 
 doors have seen no paint for years, and, opening 01 
 shutting, creak upon hinges thickly coated with rust 
 The corrals contain no cattle ; nor are there airy to be 
 seen upon the pastures outside. In short, the estate 
 shows as c if it had an absentee owner, or been aban- 
 doned altogether. And the house might appear unin- 
 habited, but for some peons seen sauntering listlessly 
 around it, and a barefoot damsel or two, standing 
 dishevelled by its door, or in its kitchen kneeling over 
 the metate, and squeezing out the maize-dough for the 
 eternal tortillas. However, despite its neglected ap- 
 pearance, it has an owner ; and, with all their indo- 
 lence, the lounging leperos outside, and slatternly 
 wenches within, have a master. He is not often at 
 home ; but, when he is, they address him as Don Faus- 
 tino. Servants rarely add the surname. If these did, 
 they would call him Don Faustino Calderon ; for he ia 
 the dueno of the deca^-ed dwelling. Only at intervals 
 do his domestics see him. He spends nearly all his 
 + ime elsewhere, — most of it in Yerba Buena, now 
 styled San Francisco. And of late more than ever ha3 
 he absented himself from his ancestral halls, for the 
 hacienda is the house in which he was born ; it, with 
 the surrounding pasture-land, left him by his father, 
 some time deceased. Since coming into possession, he 
 has neglected his patrimony, indeed, spent the greater 
 porlion of it on cards, and debaucheiy of every kind. 
 The estate is Iiea\'ily mortgaged : the house has become 
 almost a ruin. In his absence, it looks even more like 
 one ; for then his domestics, having nothing to do, are 
 scarce ever seen outside, to give the place an appear 
 
A ST0R1 OF THE SOUTH SEA. 201 
 
 mice of life. Fond of card i as their master, they may 
 at such times be observed squatted upon the pavement 
 of the inner court, playing month on a spread blanket, 
 with copper ciacos staked upon the game. When the 
 dueno is at home, things are a little diffeient ; for Don 
 Faustino, with all lis dissipation, is any thing but an 
 indulgent master. Then his domestics have to move 
 about, and wait upon him with assiduity. If they 
 don't, they will hear carajos from his lips, and get cuts 
 from his riding- whip. 
 
 It is the morning after that night when the montfi 
 bank suspended play and pa}' ; the time, six o'clock, 
 a.m. Notwithstanding the early hour, the domestics 
 are stirring about the place, as if they had something 
 to do, and were doing it. To one acquainted with 
 their usual habits, the brisk movement will be inter- 
 preted as a sure sign that their master is at home. 
 And he is ; though he has been there but a very short 
 time, — only a few minutes. Absent for more than a 
 week, he has this morning made his appearance just 
 as the day was breaking ; not alone, but in the com- 
 pany of a gentleman, whom all his servants know to 
 be his intimate friend and associate, — Don Francisco 
 de Lara. They have ridden up to the house in haste, 
 dropped the bridles on the necks of their horses, and, 
 without saying a word, left these to the care of a cou- 
 ple of grooms, rudely roused from their sLuriber. The 
 house-servants, lazily opening the huge door of the 
 saguan, see that the dueno is in ill humor, which sti.*3 
 them into activity. In haste they prepare the repa&t 
 called for, — desayuno. 
 
 Having entered, and taken seats, Don Faustino anc 
 his guest await the serving of the meal, *or a while in 
 silence, each with an elbow rested on the table, a hand 
 
202 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 supporting his head, the fingers buried in his hair 
 The silence is at length broken ; the host, as it should 
 be, speaking first. 
 
 "What had we best do, De Lara? I don't think 
 'twill be safe sta} T ing here. After what's happened, 
 they're sure to come after us." 
 
 " That's probable enough. Caspita! I'm puzzled to 
 make out how that fellow who called out our names 
 could have known we were there. 'Crusaders,' he 
 said they were ; which means the}" were sailors belong- 
 ing to the war-ship, of course the boat's crew that was 
 waiting. But what brought them up ? and how came 
 they to arrive there and then just in the nick of time 
 to spoil our plans? That's the mystery to me." 
 
 " To me too." 
 
 " There were no sailors hanging about the hotel, that 
 I saw ; nor did we encounter an} T as we went through 
 the streets. Besides, if we had, they couldn't have 
 passed us, and then come up from the opposite side, 
 without our seeing; them, dark as it was. 'Tis enough 
 to make me believe in second-sight." 
 
 " That seems the only wa}- to explain it." 
 
 " Yes ; but it won't and don't. I've been thinking 
 of another explanation, more conformable to the laws 
 of nature." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " That there's been somebody under that old boat. 
 We stood talking there like four fools, calling out one 
 another's namea- Now, suppose one of those sailors 
 was waiting by the boat as we came along, and, seeing 
 us, crept under it? He could have hearl ever}' thing 
 we said, and slipping off, after we retired to the 
 shadow, might have brought up the rest of the accursed 
 crew. The thing seems strange : at the same time it's 
 possible enough, and probable too." 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SI k. 203 
 
 It lii. And, now you speak of it, I remember some* 
 tk*«£. While we were standing under the wall, I fan- 
 cieit I w\y a man crouching aloug the water's edge, as 
 if going away from the boat.'' 
 
 "You did?" 
 
 "I'm almost certain I did. At the time I thought 
 nothing of it, as we were watching for the other two ; 
 and I had no suspicion of any one else being about. 
 Now I believe there was one." 
 
 "And now I believe so too. Yes: that accounts 
 for every thing. I see it all. That's how the sailor 
 got our names, and knew all about our design, — that 
 to do — murder! You needn't start at the word, nor 
 turn pale ; but 3*011 may at the prospect before us. 
 Carrai! we're in danger now, no mistake about it. 
 Calderon, why didn't you tell me at the time 3-011 saw 
 that man ? ' ' 
 
 "Because, as I've said, I had no thought it could 
 be any one connected with them." 
 
 " Well, 3-our thoughtlessness has got us into a fix 
 indeed, — the worst ever I've been in ; and I can remem- 
 ber a few. No use to think about duelling now, who- 
 ever might be challenger. Instead of seconds, the3''d 
 meet us with a posse of sheriff's officers. Likely 
 enough they'll be setting them after us before this. 
 Although I feel sure our bullets didn't hit either, it'll 
 be jus t as bad. The attempt will tell against us all the 
 game. Therefore it won't do to staj- here. So direct 
 your servants not to unsaddle. We'll need to be off 
 soon as we've swallowed a cup of chocolate." 
 
 A call from Don Faustino brings one of his domestics 
 to the door ; then a word or two sends him off with the 
 order for keeping the horses in hand. 
 
 " Chingara :•/ " fiercely exclaims De Lara, striking 
 
204 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 the table with his shut fist, " every thing has gone 
 against us." 
 
 " Every thing indeed. Our money lost, our love 
 made light of, our revenge baffled " — 
 
 " No, not the last ! Have no fear, Faustino. That's 
 still to come." 
 
 "How?" 
 
 " How, you ask, do 3-011? " 
 
 " I do. I can't see what way we can get it now. 
 You know the English officers will be gone in a day or 
 two. Their ship is to sail soon. Last night there was 
 talk in the town that she might leave at any moment, — 
 to-morrow, or it ma}^ be this very day." 
 
 " Let her go, and them with her. The sooner, the 
 better for us. That won't hinder us from the revenge 
 I for one want. On the contrary, 'twill help us. Ha ! 
 I shall strike this Crozier in his tenderest part ; and 
 you can do the same for Senor Cadwallader." 
 
 " In what way? " 
 
 " Faustino Caldcron, I won't call you a fool, not- 
 withstanding j'our behavior last night. But you ask 
 some very silly questions, and that's one of them. 
 Supposing Jiese gringos gone from here, does it follow 
 they'll take every thing along with them? Can you 
 think of nothing they must needs leave behind? " ' 
 
 " Their hearts. Is that what 3-011 mean? " 
 
 "No, it isn't." 
 
 "What, then?" 
 
 " Their sweethearts, stupid ! " 
 
 " But they're going too." 
 
 " So you say, and so it may be ; but not before 
 another event takes place, — one that ma3 r embarrass 
 and dela3^, if it do not altogether prevent, their depart 
 ure." 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 20D 
 
 "Amiga, you talk enigmatically. "Will you oblige 
 me by speaking plainer?" 
 
 " I will, but not till we've had our chocolate, and 
 after it a copitix of Catalan. I need a little alcohol to 
 get my brain in working-order; for there's woi\* for it 
 to do. Enough now to tell 3-ou I've had a revelation. 
 A good angel (or it mtxy be a bad one) has visited me, 
 and given it, — a vision which shows me at the same 
 time riches and revenge, pointing the straight way to 
 both." 
 
 " Has the vision shown that I am to be a sharer? " 
 
 " It has ; and 3*011 shall be, but 011I3- in propoition as 
 you ma}' prove 3-ourself worth}'." 
 
 " F faith ! I'll do my best. I have the will, if you'll 
 onl}* instruct me in the way." 
 
 M I'll do that. But I warn 3-011 'twill need more than 
 will, — strength, secrecy, courage, determination." 
 
 " Desayuno, senores ! " This from one of the domes- 
 tics, announcing the chocolate served. 
 
 A few moments suffice for the slight matutinal repast ; 
 after which a decanter of Catalonian brand}', and 
 glasses, are placed upon the table, with a bundle of 
 Manila cheroots, size number one. While the glasses 
 are being filled, and the cigars lighted, there is silence. 
 Then Calderon calls upon his guest to impart the par- 
 ticulars of that visionaiy revelation which promises to 
 give them at the same time riches and revenge. 
 
 Taking a sip of the potent spirit, and a puff or two 
 at his cigar, De Lara responds to the call. But first 
 leaning across the table, and looking his confederate 
 straight in the face, he asks, in an odd fashion, " Are 
 you a bankrupt, Faustino Calderon? " 
 
 " You know I am. Why do 3'ou put the question?" 
 
 " Because I want to be sure before making known 
 
 18 
 
206 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 to you the scheme I've hinted at. As I've told you 
 I'm after no child's play. I ask again, Are you a 
 bankrupt? " 
 
 4 'And I answer 3*ou, I am But what has that to 
 do with it? " 
 
 " A good deal. Never mi id. You are one? You 
 assure me of it ? " 
 
 " I do. I'm as poor as yourself, if not poorer, after 
 last night's losses. I'd embarked all my money in the 
 month concern." 
 
 "But you have something besides money? This 
 house and your lands ? " 
 
 "Mortgaged — months ago — up to the eyes, the 
 ears, the crown of the head. That's where the cash 
 came from to set up the bank that's broken, breaking 
 me along with it." 
 
 " And you've nothing left? No chance for starting 
 it again?" 
 
 "Not a claco. Here I am apparently in my own 
 house, with servants, such as they are, around me. It's 
 all in appearance. In reality , I'm not the owner. I 
 once was, as my father before me, but can't claim to 
 be any longer. Even while we're sitting here, drink- 
 ing this Catalan, the mortgagee — that old usurer Mar- 
 tinez — may step in, and kick us both out." 
 
 "I'd like him to try! He'd catch a Tartar, if he 
 attempted to kick me out, — he, or anybody else, just 
 now, in my present humor. There's far more reason 
 for us to fear being pulled out b} T policemen, which 
 makes it risky to remain here talking. So let's to the 
 point at once, back to where we left off. On }-our 
 oath, Faustino Calderon, you're no longer a man of 
 
 monev : 
 
 7 5: 
 
 " On my oath, Francisco de Lara, I haven't an onza 
 left, — no, not a peso." 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 207 
 
 "Enough. Now that I know your financial status, 
 we will understand one another ; and, without further 
 sircumlocution, I shall make you a sharer of the bright 
 thought that has flashed across my brain." 
 
 " Let me hear what it is. I'm all impatience." 
 
 " Not so fast, Faustino. As I've already twice told 
 you, it's no child's play, but a business that requires 
 skill and courage, above all, fidelity, among those who 
 may engage in it ; for more than two are needed. It 
 will want at least four good and true men. I know 
 three of them : about the fourth, I'm not so certain." 
 
 "Who are the three?" 
 
 "Francisco de Lara, Manuel Diaz, and Rafael 
 Rocas." 
 
 " And the fourth, about whom you are dubious? " 
 
 " Faustino Calderon." 
 
 " Why do you doubt me, De Lara?" 
 
 " Don't call it doubting. I only say I'm not certain 
 about you." 
 
 " But for what reason? " 
 
 " Besause 3*011 ma} r be squeamish, or get scared. 
 Not that there's much real danger. There ma3*n't be 
 any, if the thing's cleverly managed. But there must 
 be no bungling, and, above all, no backing out, nothing 
 like treason." 
 
 " Can't 3*011 trust me so far as to give a hint of 3*our 
 scheme? As to m3 T being squeamish, I think, seizor, 
 you do me injustice to suppose such a thing. The 
 experience of the last twent3*-four hours has made a 
 serious change in my way of viewing matters of morality. 
 A man who has lost his all, and suddenly sees himself 
 a beggar, isn't disposed to be sensitive. Come, cama- 
 rado! tell me, and try me." 
 
 " I intend doing both, but not just yet. It's an 
 
208 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 affair that calls for certain formalities, among then 
 some swearing* Those who embark in it must be 
 bound by a so'emn oath ; and, when we all get together, 
 this shall be done. Time enough then for 3-011 to know 
 what I'm aiming at. Now I can only say, that, if the 
 scheme succeed, two things are sure, and both concern 
 j-ourself, Faustino Caldel•on.' , 
 
 " What are they? You can trust me with that much, 
 I suppose?" 
 
 " Certainly I can and shall. The first is, that jxni'll 
 be a richer man than 3*011* vc ever been since I've had 
 the honor of 3-our acquaintance ; the second, that 
 Don Gregorio Montijo will not leave California, at 
 least not quite so soon, nor altogether in the way, he is 
 wishing. You ma3 T have plcnt}' of time 3-et, and oppor- 
 tunities too, to press 3-our suit with the fair Inez." 
 
 " Carramba! Secure me that, and I swear" — 
 
 44 You needn't set about swearing 3-et. You can do 
 that when the occasion calls for it. Till then, I'll take 
 3-our word. With one in love, as 3-011 believe your- 
 self, that should be binding as any oath, especially 
 when it promises such a rich reward." 
 
 " You're sure about Diaz and Rocas? " 
 
 " Quite so. With them there won't be need for any 
 piolonged conference. When a man sees the ohanc. 
 of getting sixty thousand dollars in a lump sum, he's 
 pretty certain to act prompt^-, and without being par- 
 ticular as to what that action is." 
 
 " Sixty thousand dollars ! That's to be the share of 
 each? " 
 
 "That, and more, maybe." 
 
 " It makes one crazy, even to think of such s 
 6um." 
 
 " Don't go crazed till you've got it ; then ycu may," 
 
 " If I do, it won't be with grief." 
 
A STORY OF THE SOT/TH SEA. 209 
 
 % Ij shouldn't, since it will give you a fresh lease 
 Df sweet life, and renew your hopes of having the wife 
 you want. But come, we must get away if we wish 
 to avoid being taken away, though, I fancy, there's 
 nothing to apprehend for some hours yet. The gringos 
 have gone on board their ship, and are not likely to 
 come ashore agaia. before breakfast. What with their 
 last night's revelry, it'll take them some time to get the 
 cobwebs out of their eyes after waking up. Besides, 
 if they should make it a law matter, there'll be all the 
 business of looking up warrants, and the like. They 
 do these things rather slowly in San Francisco. Then 
 there's the ten miles out here, even if they strike our 
 trail so straight. No, we needn't be in a hurry so far 
 as that goes. But the other's a thing that won't keep, 
 and must be set about at once. Fortunately, the road 
 that takes us to a place of concealment is the same we 
 have to travel upon business ; and that is to the rancho 
 of Rocas. There I've appointed to meet Diaz, who'd 
 have come with us here, but that he preferred staying 
 all night in the town. But he'll be there betimes ; and 
 we can all remain with old Rafael till this ugly wind 
 blows past, which it will in a week, or soon as the 
 English ship sails off. If not, we must keep out of 
 sight a little longer, or leave San Francisco for good." 
 
 " I hope we'll not be forced to that I shouldn't at 
 all like to leave it." 
 
 " Like it or not, you may not have the choice. And 
 what does it signify where a man lives ; so long as he's 
 got sixty thousand dollars to live on ? ' J 
 
 " True : that ought to made any place pleasant.'' 
 
 " "Well ; I tell you you will have it, maybe more. 
 But not if we stand palavering here. JWos vamosl" 
 
 A call from Cakleron summons a servant, who is 
 18» 
 
210 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 directed to nave the horses brought to the door. These 
 soon appear, under the guidance of two ragged grooms, 
 who, delivering them, see their master mount, and ride 
 off, the}' know not whither ; nor care they, so long as they 
 arc themselves left to idleness, with a plentiful supply 
 of black beans, jerked meat, and month. Soon the two 
 horsemen disappear behind the hills ; and the lrypothe- 
 f,ated house resumes its wonted look of desolation. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVH. 
 
 A CONVERSATION WITH ORANGS. 
 
 NOTWITHSTANDING his comfortable quarters 
 in the frigate, Harry Blew is up by earty day- 
 break, and off from the ship before six bells have 
 sounded. Ere retiring to rest, he had communicated 
 to his patron Crozier a full account of his zigzag wan- 
 derings through the streets of San Francisco, and how 
 he came to bring the boat's crew to the rescue. As the 
 two officers are not on the earlv morning watch, but still 
 abed, he does not await their rising ; for knowing that 
 the adage, " First come first served," is often true, he is 
 anxious, as soon as possible, to present himself at the 
 office of the agent Silvestre, and from him get directions 
 for going on board the " Condor." He is alive to the 
 hint given him by Crozier, that there may be a chance 
 of his being made mate of the Chilian ship. As 3-et, ne 
 does not even know the name of the vessel ; but that he 
 will learn at the office, as also where she is lj'ing. His 
 request to the lieutenant on duty, for a boat to set him 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 211 
 
 ashore, is at once and willingly granted. jNo officei 
 on that frigate would refuse Harry Blew ; and the dingy 
 is placed at his service. In this he is conveyed to the 
 wooden pier, whose planks he treads with heavier step, 
 but lighter heart, than when, on the night before, he 
 ran along them in quest of assistance. With heavier 
 purse too, as he carries a hundred-pound Bank-of- 
 England note in the pocket of his pea-jacket, — a part- 
 ing gift from the generous Crozier, — besides a num- 
 ber of gold-pieces received from Cadwallader as the 
 young Welshman's share of gratitude for the service 
 done them. Thus amply provided, he might proceed 
 at once to the Sailor's Home, and bring away his em- 
 bargoed property. He does not. Better first to see 
 about the berth on the Chilian ship ; and therefore he 
 steers direct for the agent's office. 
 
 Though it is still early, by good luck Don Tomas 
 chances to be already at his desk. Harry presents the 
 card given him by Crozier, at the same time declaring 
 the purpose for which he has presented himself. In 
 return, he receives from Silvestre instructions to report 
 himself on board the Chilian ship " El Condor." Don 
 Tomas, furnishing him with a note of introduction to 
 her captain, points out the vessel, which is visible from 
 his door, and at no great distance off. 
 
 " Capt. Lantanas is coming ashore," adds the agent. 
 " I expect him in the course of an hour. By waiting 
 here, 3*011 can see him ; and it will save your boat- 
 hire." 
 
 But Harry Blew will not wait. He remembers the 
 old sajing about procrastination, and is determined 
 there shall be no mishap through negligence on his 
 part, oi' niggardliness about a boat-fare. He Las mrde 
 up his mind to be the " Condor's " first mate— if he 
 
212 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 can. Nor is it altogether ambition that prompts him 
 to seek the office so earnestly. A nobler sentiment 
 inspires him, — the knowledge, t^aat, in this capacity, 
 lie may be of more service, and better capable of afford* 
 ing protection, to the fair creatures whom Crozier has 
 committed to his charge. 
 
 The watermen of San Francisco harbor do not ply 
 their oars gratuitously. Even the shabbiest of shore- 
 boats, hired for the shortest time, demands a stiffish 
 fare. It will cost Harry Blew a couple of dollars to 
 be set aboard the "Condor;" though she is tying 
 scarce three cables' length from the shore. What 
 cares he for that? It is nothing now. Hailing the 
 nearest skiff with a waterman in it, he points to the 
 Chilian ship, saying, " Heave along, lad, an' put me 
 aboard o' 3-onder craft, — that one as shows the tricolor 
 bit o' buntin' wi' a single star in the blue. The 
 sooner 3-e do 3*our job, the better 3-e'll get paid foi 
 it." 
 
 A contract on such conditions is usually entered into 
 with alacrity, and with celerit}- carried out. The boat- 
 man beaches his tin}- craft, takes in his fare ; and, in 
 less than ten minutes' time, Harry Blew swarms up 
 the man-ropes of the Chilian ship, strides over the 
 rail, and drops down upon her deck. He looks around, 
 but sees no one. At least nothing in the shape of 
 a sailor ; only an old negro, with a skin black as a 
 boot, and crow-footed all over the face, standing be- 
 side two singular creatures nearly as human-like as 
 himself, but covered with fox-colored hair, — the pets 
 of Capt. Lantanas. The old man-o'-war's-man is for 
 a time in doubt as to which of the three he should 
 address himself. Ir. point of intelligence, there seems 
 not much to choose. However, he with the black skin 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 213 
 
 cuts short his hesitation by coming up, and saj'ing, 
 " Well, raass'r sailor-man, wha' you come for? S'posa 
 you want see dc capen. I'se onty de cook. ,, 
 
 "Oh! you're 011I3* the cook, are 3*011? Well, old 
 caboose, you've made a correct guess about my biz- 
 ness. It's the capten I want to see." 
 
 " All right. He down in de cabin. You wait hya : 
 I fotch 'im up less'n no time." 
 
 The old darky, shuffling aft, disappears down the 
 companion-way, leaving Harry with the two monstrous- 
 looking creatures, whom he has now made out to be 
 orang-outangs. 
 
 " Well, mates," says the sailo *, addressing them 
 in a jocular way, "what be your tpeenyun o' things 
 in general? D'3-e think the wind's goin' to stay sou'- 
 westerly, or shift roun' to the nor'-eastart? " 
 
 4 ' Cro — cro — croak ! " 
 
 " Oh, hang it, no ! I ain't o' the croakin' sort. 
 Ha' n't 3'e got nothin' more sensible than that to say 
 tome?" 
 
 - - Kurra — kra — kra ! Cro — cro — croak ! ' ' 
 
 u No, I won't do anj' think o' the kind ; leastwa}*s, 
 unless there turns out to be short commons in the ship. 
 Then I'll croak, an' no mistake. But I say, old boys, 
 how 'bout the grog? Reg'lar allowance, I hope — 
 three tots a day?" 
 
 " Na — na — na — na — na — boof! Ta — ta — 
 ta— - fuff!" 
 
 " No, 011I3- two, 3'e say ! Ah ! that won't do for me. 
 .For ye see, shipmates, — I s'pose I shall be callin' ye 
 so, — 'board the old ' Crusader, 'I've been 'customed 
 to have my rum reg'lar three times the da3 T ; an' if it 
 ain't same on this here craft in the which I'm 'bout to 
 ship, then, shiver my spars ! if I don't raife sun a 
 nirapus as " — 
 
214 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 ' * Kurra — kurra — cr — cro — croak ! Na — na- 
 na — boof — ta — ta — pf — pf — piff ! " 
 
 The sailor's voice is drowned b} T the gibbering of tl a 
 orangs ; his gesture of mock-menace, with the semi- 
 serious look that accompanied it, having part fright- 
 ened, part enraged them. The fracas continues, until 
 the darky returns on deck, followed by the skipper ; 
 when the cook takes charge of the quadrumana, draw- 
 ing them off to his caboose. 
 
 Capt. Lan tanas, addressing himself to the sailor, 
 asks, " Un marinero?" (" A seaman? ") 
 
 "Si, capitan." ("Yes, captain.") 
 
 1 l Que negocio tienes V. commigo f" ( " What is your 
 tusiness with me?") 
 
 " "Well, capten," responds Harry Blew, speaking 
 the language of the Chilian in a tolerabty intelligible 
 patois, " I've come to offer my services to 3-ou. I've 
 brought this bit of paper from Master Silvestre : it 
 will explain things better than I can." 
 
 The captain takes the note handed to him, and 
 breaks open the envelope. A smile irradiates his 
 sallow face as he becomes acquainted with its con- 
 tents. 
 
 ' ' At last a sailor ! " he mutters to himself ; foi 
 Harry is the only one who has yet offered. " And a 
 good one too," thinks Capt. Lantanas, bending his 
 eyes on the ex-man-o'-war's-man, and scanning him 
 from head to foot. But, besides personal inspection, 
 he has other assurance of the good qualities of the 
 man before him ; at a late hour on the night before,. 
 he held communication with Don Gregorio, who has 
 recommended him. The haciendado had reported 
 what Crozier said, — that Harry Blew was an able sea- 
 man thoroughly trustworthy, and competent to take 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 215 
 
 charge of a ship, either as first or second officer. With 
 Crozier's indorsement thus vicariously conveyed, the 
 ex-man-o'-war's-man has no need to say a word foi 
 himself. Nor does Capt. Lantanas call for it. He 
 only puts some professional questions, less inquisito- 
 rial^ than as a matter of form. He speaks now in 
 English. 
 
 " The Seiior Silvestre advises me that 3*ou wish to 
 serve in nry ship. Can you take a lunar?" 
 
 " Well, capten, I hev squinted through a quadrant 
 afore now, an' can take a sight ; tho' I arn't much up 
 to loonars. But, if there's a good chronometer aboard, 
 I won't let a ship run very far out o' her reck'nin'." 
 
 " You can keep a log-book, I suppose? " 
 
 " 1 dar say I can. I've lamed to write so'st might 
 be read ; tho' my fist an't much to be bragged about." 
 
 "That will do," rejoins the skipper contentedly. 
 "Now, Senor Enrique, — I see that's 3-our name, — 
 answer me in all candor. Do 3-011 think 3'ou are capa- 
 ble of acting as piloto? " 
 
 " B3- that 3*ou mean mate, I take it? " 
 
 " Yes : it is piloto in Spanish." 
 
 "Well, capten, 'tain't for me to talk big o' rnyself. 
 But I've been over thirty- 3-ear 'board a British man-o'- 
 war, — more'n one o' 'em, — an' if I wan't able to go 
 mate in a merchanter, I ought to be condemned to be 
 cook's scullion for the rest o' my da3~s. If your honor 
 thinks me wortlry o' bein' made first officer o' the 
 4 Condor,' I'll answer for it she won't stra3 T far out o' 
 her course while 1113' watch is on." 
 
 " Enough, Sehor Enrique B — blee. What is it? " 
 asks the Chilian, re-opening the note, and vainly endeav- 
 oring to pronounce the Saxon surname. 
 
 " Blew, Harry Blew." 
 
216 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 44 All, Bloo— azul, esta ?" 
 
 " No, capten. Not that sort o' blue. In Spanish 
 my name has a cliff rent significance. It means as wc 
 say of a gale after it's Mowed past, — it ' blew.' 
 When it's been a big un, we say it ' blew great guns. : 
 Now ye understand? " 
 
 " Yes, perfectly. Well, Sefior Blew, to come to an 
 understanding about the other matter. I'm willing to 
 take 3-011 as my first officer, if 3-011 don't object to the 
 wages I intend offering you, — fifty dollars a month, 
 and every thing found." 
 
 44 I'm agreeable to the tarms." 
 
 44 Basta! When will it be convenient for 3-011 to 
 enter on 3-0111* duties ? ' ' 
 
 44 For that matter, this minute. I 01113- need to go 
 ashore to get 1113- kit. When that's stowed, I'll be 
 ready to tackle to work." 
 
 44 Bueno, seTior : 3-011 can take my boat for it. And, 
 if 3-011 see any sailors who want to join, I authorize 
 you to engage them at double the usual wages. I want 
 to get away as soon as a crew can be shipped. But, 
 when 3-011 come back, we'll talk more about it. Call 
 at Sefior Silvester's office, and tell him he needn't look 
 for me till a later hour. Say I've some business that 
 detains me aboard the ship. Hasta Luego! " 
 
 Thus courteously concluding, the Chilian skippei 
 returns to his cabin, leaving the newly appoin ted pilvto 
 free for his own affairs. 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 217 
 
 CHAPTER XXVin. 
 
 TIIE BLUE-PETER. 
 
 Tf^HE ex-man-O'-war's-man, now first mate of a 
 JL merchant-ship, and provided with a boat of his 
 own, orders off the skiff he has kept in waiting, after 
 tossing into it two dollars, — the demanded fare ; 
 then, slipping down into the " Condor's " gig, sculls 
 himself ashore. Leaving his boat at the pier, he first 
 goes to the office of the ship-agent, and delivers the 
 message intrusted to him ; then, contracting with a 
 truckman, he proceeds to the Sailor's Home, "re- 
 lieves " his impedimenta, and starts back to embark 
 them in his boat, but not before giving the bar-keeper, 
 as also the Boniface, of that inhospitable establish- 
 ment, a bit of his mind. Spreading before their eyes 
 the crisp hundred-pound-note, which as yet he has not 
 needed to break, he saj-s tauntingly, "Take a squint 
 at that, }^e land-lubbers ! There's British money for 
 ye! An', tho' 't be but a bit o' paper, worth more 
 than your gold-dross, dollar for dollar. How'd ye 
 like to lay your ugly claws on't? Ah! you're a pair 
 of the most gentlemanly shore-sharks I've met in all 
 my cruzins, but — ye' 11 never have Harry Blew in your 
 grups again." Saying this, he thrusts the bank-note 
 into his pocket ; then, pacing them a last reverence 
 with mock politeness, he starts after the truckman, 
 alread} T en route with his kit. , 
 
 In accordance with the wishes of Capt. Lantanas, 
 Id 
 
218 THE FLAG OF DISTKESS. 
 
 he slays a litti3 longer in the town, trying to pick up 
 sailors. There are plenty of these sauntering along 
 the streets, and lounging at the doors of drinking- 
 saloons. But even double wages will not tempt theui 
 to abandon their free-and-easy life; and the "Con- 
 dor's " first officer is forced to the conclusion he must 
 return to the ship solus. Assisted by the truckman, 
 he gets his traps into the gig, and is about to step in 
 himself, when his eye chances to turn upon the 
 " Crusader." There he sees something to surprise him, 
 
 - the Blue-Peter ! The frigate has out signals fo! 
 . ailing. He wonders at this : there was no word of 
 (t when he was aboard. He knew, as all the others, 
 
 ■hat she was to sail soon : it might be in a da} r or 
 two, but not, as the signal indicates, within the hour 
 or two. While conjecturing the cause of such hasty 
 departure, he sees something that partly explains it. 
 Three or four cables' length from the " Crusader" is 
 another ship, over whose taffrail floats the flag of 
 England. At a glance the old man-o'-war's-man can 
 tell she is a corvette ; at the same time recalling what, 
 the night before, he has heard upon the frigate, — that 
 the coming of the corvette will be the signal for the 
 "Crusader" to sail. While his heart warms to the 
 flag thus cloub]}" displayed in the harbor of San Fran- 
 cisco, it is a little saddened to see the other signal, — 
 {he Blue-Peter ; for it tells him he may not have an 
 opportunity to take a more formal leave of his friends 
 on the frigate, which he designed doing. He longs to 
 make known to Mr. Crozier the result of his applica- 
 tion to the captain of the Chilian ship, to receive the 
 congi atulations of the young officers on h!s success. 
 But now it may be impossible to communicate with 
 tnem, the "Crusader" so soon leaving port. He baa 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 219 
 
 half a mind to put off for the frigate in the ' ' Condor's ' ' 
 gig, into whicb he hag got. But Capt. Lantanas might, 
 deanwhile, be wanting both him and the boat. 
 
 All at once, in the midst of his irresolution, he sees 
 that which promises to help him out of the dilemma, — 
 a small boat putting off from the frigate's sides, and 
 heading right for the pier. As it draws nearer, he 
 can tell it to be the dingy. There are three men in it, 
 — two rowers and a steersman. As it approaches the 
 pier-head, Harry recognizes the one in the stern-sheets, 
 whose bright, ruddy face is towards him. " Thank the 
 Lord for such good-luck!" he mutters. "It's Mr. 
 Cadwallader ! " 
 
 B3' this the dingy has drawn near enough for the 
 midshipman to see and identify him ; which he does, 
 exclaiming in joyful surprise, " By Jove ! it's Blew 
 himself! Halloo, there, Harry ! You're just the man 
 I'm coming ashore to see. Hold, starboard oar! 
 Port oar, a stroke or two. Way enough ! " 
 
 In a few seconds the dingy is bow on to the gig ; 
 when Harry, seizing hold of it, brings the two boata 
 side by side, and steadies them. 
 
 " Glad to see ye again, Master Willie. I'd just 
 sighted the ' Crusader's ' signal for sailin', an' despaired. 
 o' havin' the chance to say a last word to yourself or 
 Mr. Crozier." 
 
 " Well, old boy, it's about that I've come ashore . 
 Jump out, and walk with me a bit along the wharf.' 7 
 
 The sailor drops his oar, and springs out upon the 
 pier ; the young officer preceding him. When suffi- 
 ciently distant from the boats to be beyond earshot of 
 the oarsmen, Cadwallader resumes speech: " Harry, 
 here's a letter from Mr. Crozier. He wants you to 
 deliver it at the address you 11 find written upon it, 
 
220 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 To save you the necessity of inquiring, I can point 
 out the place it's to go to. Look alongshore. You 
 see a house }*onder on the top of the hill? " 
 
 " Sartinly I see it, Master Willie, and know who 
 .ires in it, — two o' the sweetest creaturs in all Cali- 
 forney. I s'pose the letter be for one o' them." 
 
 " No, it isn't, you dog! for neither of them. Read 
 (he superscription. You see, it's addressed to a gen- 
 tleman ?" 
 
 "Oh! it's for the guv'nor his-self," rejoins Harry, 
 taking the letter, and running his e}-e over the direc- 
 tion, — Don Gregorio Montijo. " All right, sir. I'll 
 pnt it in the old gentleman's flippers safe an' sure. 
 Do 3'ou want me to go with it now, sir? " 
 
 " Well, as soon as you conveniently can ; though 
 there's no need for helter-skelter haste, since there 
 wouldn't be time for an answer anyhow. In twenty 
 minutes ' the Crusader ' will weigh anchor, and be off. 
 I've hurried ashore to see you, hoping to find 3*011 at the 
 ship-agent's office. How fortunate my stumbling on 
 you here ! for now I can better tell 3'ou what's wanted. 
 In that letter, there's something that concerns Mr. 
 Crozier and myself, — matters of importance to us 
 both. When }T>u've given it to Don Gregorio, he'll no 
 doubt ask you some questions about what happened 
 last night. Tell him all j t ou know, except that 3 r ou 
 needn't sa3 T aity thing of Mr. Crozier and myself having 
 taken a little too much champagne, which we did. 
 You understand, old I303'? " 
 
 "Parfitly, Master Will." 
 
 "Good! Now, Harry, I haven't another moment 
 to sta3 r . See ! The ship's beginning to show canvas. 
 If I don't get back directly, I may be left here in 
 California, never to rise above the lank of reefer. Oh 1 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 221 
 
 by the way, you'll be pleased to know that 3-our friend 
 Mr. Crozier is now a lieutenant. His commission 
 arrived 03* the corvette that came in last night. He 
 told me to tell 3-ou, and I'd nearly forgotten it." 
 
 "I'm gled to hear it," rejoins the sailor, raising 
 the hat from his head, and giving a subdued cheer, — 
 " right gled; an' inaybe he'll be the same, hearin' 
 Harry Blew's been also purmoted. I'm now first 
 mate o' the Chilian ship, Master Willie." 
 
 "Hurrah! I congratulate you on 3'our good luck. 
 I'm delighted to hear of it ; and so will he be. We 
 may hope some day to see 3-011 a full-fledged skipper, 
 commanding 3-our own craft. Now, you dear old salt, 
 don't forget to look well after the girls. Again good- 
 03-, and God bless 3-011! " A squeeze of hands, with 
 fingers intwined tight as a reef-knot, then relaxed 
 with reluctance ; after which the3' separate. 
 
 The mid, jumping into the ding3~, is rowed back 
 towards the "Crusader;" while Harry re-hires the 
 truckman, but now only to sta3 T b3 r and take care of 
 his boat till he can return to it, after executing the 
 errand intrusted to him. Snug as kis new berth 
 promises to be, he would rather lose it than fail to 
 deliver that letter. And, in ten minutes after, he has 
 passed through the suburbs of the town, and is hasten- 
 ing along the shore-road, towards the house of Don 
 Gregorio Montijo. 
 
 19* 
 
222 THh: FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 DREADING A DUEL 
 
 ONCE more upon the housetop stand Carmen 
 Montijo and Inez Alvarez. It is the morning 
 of the day succeeding that made sacred by their 
 betrothal. Their eyes are upon the huge war-ship 
 that holds the men who hold their hearts, with promise 
 of their hands, in short, every hope of their life's 
 happiness. They could be happy now, but for an 
 apprehension that oppresses them, causing them keen 
 anxiety. Yesterday, with its scenes of pleasurable 
 excitement, had also its incidents of the opposite 
 kind, the remembrance of which too vividly remains, 
 and is not to be got rid of. The encounter between 
 the gamblers and their lovers cannot end with that 
 episode to which they were themselves witness. Some- 
 thing more will surety come from it. What will this 
 something be? What should it? What could it, but 
 a desafio, — a duel? 
 
 However brave on 3 T ester-morn the two senoritas 
 were, however apparently regardless of consequences, 
 it is different to-day. The circumstances have some- 
 what changed. Then their sweethearts were only 
 suitois. Now the} 7 are affianced, still standing in the 
 relationship of lovers,, but with ties more firmly united. 
 The 3'oung Englishmen are now their own. Inez is 
 less anxious than her aunt, having less cause to be. 
 With jlie observant intelligence of wo'nau, she haa 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 223 
 
 long since seen that Calcleron is a coward, and for this 
 reason has but little belief he will fight. With instinct 
 equally keen, Carmen knows De Lara will. After his 
 terrible humiliation, he is not the man to shrink away 
 out of sight. Blackleg though he be, he possesses 
 courage, perhaps the only quality he has deserving 
 of admiration. Once she herself admired the quality, 
 if not the man. That remembrance itself makes her 
 fear what may come. She speaks in serious tone, dis- 
 cussing with her niece the probabilities of what may 
 arise. The delirious joy of yester-eve — of that hour 
 when she sat in her saddle, looking over the ocean, 
 and listening to the sweet words of love — is to-day 
 succeeded by depression, almost despondency. While 
 conversing, they have their eyes upon the ba} T , watch- 
 ing the boats, that at intervals are seen to put off 
 from the war-ship, fearing "to recognize in them the 
 forms of those so dear. Fearing it ; for they know 
 that the young officers are not likely to be ashore 
 again ; and their coming now could only be on that 
 errand the}', the senoritas, so much dread, — the duel. 
 Duty should keep them both on their ship ; but honor 
 may require them once more to visit the shore, per- 
 haps never more to leave it alive. 
 
 Thus gloomily reflects Carmen, imparting her fears 
 to the less frightened Inez ; though she, too, is not 
 without some apprehension. If they but understood 
 the code of signals, all this miseiy would be spared 
 them ; for on the frigate's main-royal-mast head floats 
 a blue flag, with a white square in its centre, which is 3 
 poitent that she will soon spread her sails, and glide 
 off out of sight, carrying their amantes beyond all 
 danger of duels, or shore-scrapes of any kind. They 
 eee the Blue-Peter, lut without knowing aught of 
 
224 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 its significance. They do not even try to interpret or 
 think of it ; their thoughts, as their e} T es, being busy 
 with the boats that pass between ship and shore. One 
 at length arrests their attention, and keeps it for some 
 time fixed, — a small craft, that, leaving the ship, is 
 steered direct for the town. It passes near enough for 
 them to see that there are three men in it, two of them 
 rowing, the other in the stern ; the last in the uniform 
 of an officer. Love's glance is keen ; and this, aided 
 by an opera-glass, enables Inez Alvarez to identify the 
 officer in the stern-sheets as her own Don Gulielmo. 
 This does not alarm the ladies so much as if the steers- 
 man had been Crozier. But he is not. The other two, 
 the oarsmen, are only sailors in blue serge shirts, with 
 wide collars falling far back. For what the }'Oung 
 officer is being rowed ashore, they cannot guess. If 
 for fighting, the^y know that another and older officer 
 would be with him. Where is Eduardo ? While still 
 conjecturing, the boat glides on towards the town, and 
 is lost to their view behind some sand-hills inshore. 
 Their glance going back to the ship, the}' perceive a 
 change in her aspect. Her tall, tapering masts, with 
 their network of stays and shrouds, are half-hidden 
 behind broad sheets of canvas. The frigate is unfurl- 
 ing sail. The}' are surprised at this, not expecting it 
 ao soon. With the help of their glasses, the}' observe 
 other movements going on aboard the war-vessel, — 
 signal-flags running up and down their halyards, while 
 boats are being hoisted to the davits. While watching 
 these manoeuvres, the little craft whicn carries the mid- 
 shipman again appears, shooting out from behind the 
 sand-hills, and being rowed rapidly back to the ship, 
 the young officer still in it. On reaching the great 
 Leviathan, for a short time it shows like a tiny spot 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 225 
 
 along lier water-line ; but, soon after, it, too, is lifted 
 aloft, and over the bulwark-rail. 
 
 Ignorant as the young ladies ma}* be of nautical 
 matters, the}* can have no doubt as to what all this 
 manoeuvring means. The ship is about to sail. As 
 this is an event which interests all the family, Don 
 Gregorio, summoned to the housetop, soon stands 
 beside ihem. 
 
 •'She's going off, sure enough! " he remarks, after 
 sighting through one of the glasses. "It's rather 
 strange, so abruptly," he adds. "Our young friends 
 said nothing about it last night." 
 
 " I think the}* could not have known of it them- 
 selves," says Carmen. 
 
 " I'm sure they couldn't," adds Inez. 
 
 "What makes you sure, nina? " asks Don Gre- 
 gorio. 
 
 " Well — because," stammers out the Andalusian, a 
 flush starting into her cheeks — - * because they'd have 
 told us. They said they didn't expect to sail for a day 
 or two, anyhow." 
 
 "Just so. But you see, they're setting sail now, 
 evidently intending to take departure. However, 1 
 fancy I can explain it. You remember they spoke of 
 another war-ship they expected to arrive. Yonder il 
 A s, It came into port last night, and, in all likelihood, 
 tias brought orders for the ' Crusader ' to sail at once. 
 I oily wish it was the ' Condor ! ' I sha'n't sleep soundly 
 till we're safe away from" — 
 
 "See!" interrupts Carmen: "is not that a sailor 
 coming this way 9 " She points to a man moving along 
 the shore-road in the direction of the house. 
 
 " I think so," responds Don Gregorio, after a glance 
 through the glass. "He appears to be in seaman'g 
 dress." 
 
226 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 ;t Will lie be coming here? " 
 
 " 1 shouldn't be surprised, probably with a message 
 from our young friends. It may be the man they 
 recommended to me." 
 
 '■ That's why somebody came ashore in the littla 
 boat," whispers Iilez to her aunt. "We'll get bllle- 
 titas. I was sure the} r wouldn't go away without leav- 
 ing one last little word." 
 
 Inez' speech imparts no information ; for Carmen 
 has been surmising in the same strain. The aunt 
 replies by one of those proverbs in which the Spanish 
 tongue is so rich : " Silencio! hay Moros en la costa." 
 (" Silence ! there are Moors on the coast.") 
 
 While this bit of by-play is being carried on, the 
 sailor ascends the hill, and is seen entering at the road- 
 gate. There can now be no uncertainty as to his call- 
 ing. The blue jacket, broad shirt-collar, round-rib- 
 boned hat, and bell-bottomed trousers, are all the 
 unmistakable toggery of a tar. Advancing up the 
 avenue in a rolling gait, with an occasional tack from 
 side to side, that almost fetches him up among the 
 tnanzanitas, he at length reaches the front of tte house. 
 There stopping, and looking up to the roof, lie salutes 
 those upon it b} r removing his hat, giving a back- 
 scrape with his foot, and a pluck at one of his brow 
 locks. 
 
 " Que quieres F"., senor?" ( u What is your business, 
 sir?") asks the haciendado, speaking down to him. 
 
 Harry Blew, for it is he, replies b} T holding out a 
 letter, at the same time saying, " Your honor, I've 
 brought this for the master o' the house." 
 
 " I am he. Go in through that door you see below. 
 I'll come down to you." 
 
 Don Gregorio descends the escalera, and, meeting tbo 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 227 
 
 messenger in the inner court, receives, the letter ad- 
 dressed to him. Breaking it open, he reads, — 
 
 Estimable Senor, — Circumstances have arisen that 
 take us away from San Francisco sooner than we ex- 
 pected. The corvette that came into port last night 
 brought orders for the " Crusader' ' to sail at once; 
 (hough our destination is the same as already known 
 to you, — the Sandwich Islands. As the ship is about 
 to weigh anchor, I have barely time to write a word for 
 irryself and Mr. Cadwallader. We think it proper to 
 make known some circumstances, which will, no doubt, 
 cause 3'ou surprise as well as ourselves. Yesterday 
 morning we met at your house two gentlemen, — as 
 courtes}' would then have required me to call them, — 
 by name Francisco de Lara and Faustino Calderon. 
 We encountered them at a later hour of the da} T , when 
 an occurrence took place which absolved us from either 
 thinking of them as gentlemen, or treating them as 
 such. And still later, after leaving your hospitable 
 roof, we, for the third time, came across the same two 
 individuals, under circumstances showing them to be 
 professional gamblers. In fact, we found them to be 
 the proprietors of a monte bank in the notorious El 
 Dorado, one of them engaged in dealing the cards. A 
 spirit of fun, with perhaps a spice of mischief, led 
 me into the pla} T ; and, betting largely. I succeeded in 
 breaking the bank. After that, for a short while, we 
 lost sight of them ; but as we were making our way 
 to the wharf, where our boat was to meet us, we had a 
 fourth interview with the "gentlemen," who on this 
 occasion appeared, with two others, in the character of 
 robbers and assassins. That they did not succeed in 
 either robbing; or murdering us is due to tbe brave 
 
228 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 fellow who will bear this letter to 3'ou, — the sailor of 
 whom I spoke. He can give you all the particulars of 
 the last and latest encounter with these versatile indi- 
 viduals, who claim acquaintance with you. You may 
 rely on his truthfulness. I have no time to say more. 
 
 Hoping to see you in Cadiz, please convey parting 
 compliments to the senoritas — from Cadwallader and 
 3'ours faithfully, Edward Crozier. 
 
 The letter makes a painful impression on the min:l 
 of Don Gregorio. Not that he is much surprised at 
 the information regarding De Lara and Calderon. He 
 has heard sinister reports concerning them, of late so 
 loudly spoken that he had determined on forbidding 
 them further intercourse with his family. That very 
 da3* he has been displeased on learning of their ill- 
 timed visit. And now he feels chagrin at something 
 like a reproach conveyed by that expression in Crozier's 
 letter: "These versatile individuals who claim 3-our 
 acquaintance." It hurts his hidalgo pride. Thrust- 
 ing the epistle into his pocket, he questions its bearer, 
 taking him to his private room, as also into his confi- 
 dence. The sailor gives him a detailed account of the 
 attempt at murder, so fortunately defeated, afterwards 
 making known other matters relating to himself, and 
 how he has taken service on the Chilian ship, Don Gre- 
 gorio inquiring particularly about this. 
 
 Meanwhile, the young ladies have descended from 
 the azotea; and the ex-man -o* -war' s-man makes their 
 acquaintance. The3* assist in showing him hospitality, 
 loading him with pretty presents, and knick-knacks to 
 be carried on board the " Condor," to which they know 
 he now belongs. As lie is about to depart, they nutter 
 around him, speaking pleasant words, as if they ex- 
 
A STOHY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 229 
 
 pected to get sorneth/ ig in return, — those billetitas 
 And 3-et lie goes away without leaving them a scrap. 
 A pang of disappointment, almost chagrin, shoots 
 through the soul of Carmen as she sees him passing 
 out of sight • and similarly afflicted is Inez, both re- 
 flecting alike. 
 
 Still they have hope : there ma}- be something en- 
 closed for them in that letter the}* saw Harry holding 
 up. It seemed large enough to contain two separate 
 notes. And, if not these, there should at least be a 
 postscript with special reference to themselves. Daugh- 
 ters of Eve, they are not long before approaching the 
 subject, and drawing Don Gregorio. 
 
 Yes, there is something said about thorn in the 
 letter. He reads it, "Parting compliments to the 
 seTioritas." 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 THE LAST LOOK. 
 
 UP anchor ! The order rings along the deck of 
 the "Crusader;" and the men of the watch 
 stand by the windlass to execute it. 
 
 That same morning Crozier and Cadwallader, turn- 
 ing out of their cots, heard with surprise the order for 
 sending up the Blue- Peter, as, also, that the ship was 
 lo weigh anchor b}* twelve o'clock noon. Of course, 
 tiic}' were expecting it, but not so soon. However, 
 the ai rival of the corvette explains it ; an officer from 
 the latter vessel having already come on board the 
 " Crusader " with despatches from the flag-ship of the 
 Pacific squadron. 
 20 
 
230 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 These contain orders for the frigate to set sail foi 
 thp Sandwich Islands without any dela}-, the corvette 
 to replace her on the San Francisco station. The 
 despatch-bearer has also brought a mail ; and the " Cru- 
 sader's'' people get letters, — home- news, welcome 
 to those who have been long awa}- from their native 
 land; for the frigate has been three years cruising in 
 the South Sea. Something more than mere news 
 several of her officers receive. In large envelopes 
 addressed to them, and bearing the British Admiralty 
 seal, are documents of peculiar interest, commissions 
 giving them promotion. Among the rest, one reaches 
 Crozier, advancing him a step in rank. His ability as 
 an officer has been reported at headquarters, as, also, 
 his gallant conduct in having saved a sailor's life, res- 
 cued him from drowning, — that sailor Harry Blew. In 
 all probability, this has obtained him his promotion ; 
 but, whatever the cause, he will leave San Francisco a 
 lieutenant. 
 
 There are few officers, naval or military, who would 
 not feel favored and joyous at such an event in their 
 lives. It has no such effect upon Edward Crozier. 
 On the contrary, as the white canvas is being spread 
 above his head, there is a black shadow upon his brow, 
 while that of Cadwallader is also clouded. It is not 
 from an} T regret at leaving California, but leaving it 
 under circumstances that painfully impress them. The 
 occurrences of the day before, but more those of the 
 night, have revealed a state of things that suggest 
 unpleasant reflections, esracially to Crozier. He can- 
 not cast out of his mind the sinister impression made 
 upon it by the discover}' hat Don Francisco de Lara — 
 his rival for the hand of Carmen Montijo — is no other 
 than the na torious Frank Lara, of whom Le had fre- 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 2S1 
 
 quently heard, — the keeper of a month table in the 
 saloon El Dorado. Now he knows it ; and the knowl- 
 edge afflicts him to the laceration of his heari. No 
 wonder at the formality of that letter which he ad- 
 dresses to Don Gregorio, or the insinuation conveyed 
 by it ; nor strange the cold compliments with which 
 it was concluded ; far stranger had they been warm. 
 Among other unpleasant thoughts which the young 
 officers have, on being so soon summoned away, is 
 that of leaving matters unsettled with Messrs. De Lara 
 and Calderon. Not that they have any longer either 
 design or desire to stand before such cut-throats in a 
 duel, nor any shame in shunning it. Their last en- 
 counter with the scoundrels would absolve them from 
 all stigma or disgrace in refusing to fight them, even 
 were there time and opportunity : so they need have 
 no fear that their honor will suffer, or that an}' one will 
 apply to them the opprobrious epithet, Idche. In- 
 deed, the} 7 have not ; and their only regret is at not 
 being able to spend another hour in San Francisco, in 
 order that they might look up the intending assassins, 
 and give them into the custody of the police. But 
 then that would lead to a difficulty that had better be 
 avoided, — the necessity of leaving their ship, and starv- 
 ing to prosecute a criminal action in courts where the 
 guilty criminal is quite as likely to be favored as the 
 innocent prosecutor. It is not to be thought of; and, 
 long before the " Crusader's " anchor is lifted, they 
 cease thinking of it. 
 
 Crozier's last act before leaving port is to write that 
 letter 1o Don Gregorio; Cadwallader's, to carry it 
 ashore, and deliver it to Harry Blew. Then, in less 
 than twenty minutes after the midshipman regains 
 footing on the frigate's deck., the order is issued fo? 
 
282 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 her sails to be sheeted home. The canvas hanging cor- 
 rugated from her yards is drawn taut, the anchor 
 hauled apeak ; and the huge leviathan, obedient to her 
 helm, held in strong hands, is brought round, with head 
 towards the Golden Gate. The wind catches Ler 
 spread sails, bellies them out ; and in five minutes 
 more, with the British flag floating proudly over her 
 tafFrail, she passes out of the harbor, leaving many 
 a vessel behind, whose captains, for the want of a 
 crew, bewail their inability to follow her. 
 
 But there are eyes following her from farther off, — 
 beautiful e}'es, that express sadness of a different kind, 
 and from a different cause. Carmen Montijo and Inez 
 Alvarez again stand upon the azotea, glasses in hand. 
 Instead, there should have been kerchiefs — white ker- 
 chiefs — waving adieu. And there would have been 
 but for those chilling words, " Parting compliments to 
 the sehorkas." Strange last words for lovers ! Santis- 
 sima I what could it mean ? So reflect the} r to whom 
 the}' were sent, as they stand in saddened attitude, 
 watching the war-ship, and straining their ej'es upon 
 her, till, rounding Telegraph Hill, she disappears from 
 their sight. 
 
 Equally sad are two young officers on the departing 
 ship. They, too, stand with glasses in hand levelled 
 upon the house of Don Gregorio Montijo. They can 
 sec, as once before, two heads over the parapet, and, 
 as before, recognize them ; but not as before, or with 
 the same feelings, do the}' regard them. All is changed 
 now, eveiy thing doubtful and indefinite, where it might 
 be supposed every thing had been satisfactorily arranged. 
 But it has not, especially in the estimation of Crozier, 
 whose dissatisfaction is shown in a soliloquy to which 
 he gives utterance, as Telegraph Hill, irterfering with 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 233 
 
 his field of view, causes him to lay aside his telu. 
 scope. 
 
 " Carmen Montijo ! " he exclaims, crushing the tele- 
 scope l jo its shortest, and returning it to its case. " To 
 think of a * sport,' a common gambler, even having 
 acquaintance with her, far less presuming to make 
 love to her ! ' ' 
 
 "More than gamblers, both of them," adds Cad- 
 wallader by his side. " Robbers, murderers, any thing, 
 if they only had the chance. " 
 
 "Ay, true, Will! — every thing vile and vulgar 
 Don't it make 3'ou mad to think of it?" 
 
 " No, not mad. That isn't the feeling I have, but 
 fear." 
 
 "Fear! Of what?" 
 
 - - That the scoundrels may do some harm to our 
 girls. As we know now, they're up to any thing. 
 Since they don't stick at assassination, they won't at 
 abduction. I hope 3'our letter to Don Gregorio may 
 open his eyes about them, and put him on his guard. 
 Inez — who's to protect her? I'd give all I have 111 
 the world to be sure of her getting safely embarked in 
 that Chilian ship. Once there, dear old Harry will take 
 care of her — of them both." 
 
 Cad wallader 's words seem strangety to affect his 
 companion, changing the expression upon his counte- 
 nance. It is still shadowed ; but the cloud is of a 
 different kind. From anger, it has a'tered to anxiety. 
 
 " You Ye struck a chord, Will, that, while not sooth- 
 ing the old pain, gives me a new one. I wasn't think- 
 ing of that : my thoughts were all occupied with the 
 other trouble — 3*011 understand ? ' ' 
 
 "I do. At the same time, I think 3-011 make too 
 much of the other trouble, as you term it. I confess 
 
 '20* 
 
234 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 it troubles me too, a little, though peihaps not so 
 much as it does you. And, luckity, less, the more I 
 reflect on it. After all, there don't seem so much to 
 be bothered about. As 3-011 know, Ned, it's a common 
 thing among Spanish Americans — whose customs are 
 altogether unlike our own — to have gamblers going 
 into their best societ} r . Besides, I can tell 3-011 some- 
 thing that ma3 T comfort 3-ou a little, — a bit of informa- 
 tion J had from Inez as we were platicando along the 
 road on our ride. It was natural she should speak 
 about the slvy-blue fellow, and my sticking his horse in 
 the hip." 
 
 "What did she sa3'?" asks Crozier, with newly 
 awakened interest. 
 
 " That he was a gentleman 03- birth, but falling fast, 
 and, indeed, quite down." 
 
 " And De Lara — did she sa3 T aught of him? " 
 
 " She did : she spoke of him still more disparaging^, 
 though knowing him less. She said he had been intro- 
 duced to them by the other, and the3^ were accustomed 
 to meet him on occasions. But of late the3 T had 
 learned more of him; and, learning this, her aunt — 
 j-our Carmen — had become very desirous of cutting 
 his acquaintance, as, indeed, all of them. That they 
 intended doing it, even if they had remained in Cali- 
 fornia. But now — now that the3' were leaving it, they 
 did not like to humiliate him by giving hin the conge 
 he deserved." 
 
 Crozier, with eyes earnest^ fixed upon Cadwallader, 
 has listened to the explanation. At its close, ho cries 
 out, grasping his comrade's hand, " Will, 3-011've lifted 
 a load from my heart. I now see daylight where all 
 seemed darkness, and, beholding yonder MU, feel the 
 truth of Campbell's splendid lines, — 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 235 
 
 " A kiss can consecrate the ground 
 Where mated hearts are mutual bound : 
 The spot where love's first links are wound, 
 
 That ne'er are riven, 
 Is hallowed down to earth's profound, 
 
 And up to heaven." 
 
 After repeating the poet's passionate words, Croziei 
 stands gazing on a spot so consecrated to him, — the 
 summit of the hill, where, just twenty-four hours ago, 
 he spoke love's last appeal to Carmen Montijo. For 
 the "Crusader" has passed out through the Golden 
 Gate, and is now beating down the coast of the Paci- 
 fic. Cadwallader's eyes, with equal interest, are turned 
 upon the same spot ; and for some time both are silent, 
 absorbed in sweet reflection, recalling all that occurred 
 in a scene whose slightest incident neither can ever 
 forget. O11I3* when the land looms low, and the out- 
 lines of the San Bruno Mountains begin to blend with 
 the purpling sky, does shadow again loom on the coun- 
 tenances of the young officers. But now it is different, 
 no longer expressing chagrin, nor the rancor of jeal- 
 ousy, but doubt, apprehension, fear, for the dear onea- 
 left behind. Still the cloud has a silver lining; and 
 that is — Har.y Blew. 
 
236 THE flLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 A SOLEMN COMPACT. 
 
 A COTTAGE of the old Californian kind, is 
 other words, a rancho, — one of the humblest of 
 these humble dwellings, — the homes of the Spanish 
 American poor. It is a mere hut, thatched with a 
 species of seashore grass (the " broombent " ) , seen 
 growing in the medanos (sand-dunes) near by ; for it 
 is by the sea, or within sight of it, itself inconspicu- 
 ous by reason uf rugged rocks that cluster around, and 
 soar up behind, forming a background in keeping with 
 the rude architectural style of the dwelling. From the 
 land-side it is approachable by devious and difficult 
 paths, only known to a few intimate friends of its 
 owner. 
 
 From the sea equally difficult ; for the little cove 
 ieading up to it would not have depth sufficient to per- 
 mit the passage of a boat, but for a tiny stream trickling 
 seaward which has furrowed out a channel in the sand. 
 That by this boats can enter the cove, is evident from 
 one being ~een moored near its inner end, in front of, 
 and not far from, the hovel. As it is a craft of the 
 kind generally used by California fishermen, more 
 especially those who hunt the fur-seal, it may be 
 deduced that the owner of the hut is a seal -hunter. 
 
 This is his profession reputedlv ; though there are 
 some who ascribe to him callings of a different kind, 
 among others, insinuating that he occasionally does 
 business as a contrabandista. 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 237 
 
 Whether true or not, Rafael Rocas — for he is the 
 owner of the hut — is not the man to trouble himself 
 abcut denying it. He would scarce consider smuggling 
 an aspersion on his character ; and indeed, under old 
 Mexican administration, it* would have been but slight 
 blame or shame to him, and not such a great deal, 
 either, under the new, at the time of which we write, 
 but perhaps even less. Compared wit a other crimes 
 then rife in California, contrabandism might almost be 
 reckoned an honest calling. 
 
 But Rafael Rocas has a repute for doings of a yet 
 darker kind. With those slightly acquainted with him, 
 it is only suspicion ; but a few of his more intimate 
 associates can say for certain that he is not disinclined 
 to a stroke either of road-robbeiy, or a job at house- 
 breaking ; so that, if times have changed for the worse, 
 ne has not needed an}' change to keep pace with them. 
 
 It is the day on which the " Crusader" sailed from 
 San Francisco Ba}", and he is in his hut ; not alone, 
 but in the company of three men, in personal appear- 
 ance altogether unlike himself. While he wears the 
 common garb of a Californian fisherman, — loose pea- 
 coat of coarse canvas, rough water-boots, and seal-skin 
 cap, — they are attired in costly stuffs, — cloaks of 
 finest broadcloth, jaquetas of rich velvet, and calzoneras 
 lashed with gold-lace, and gleaming with constellations 
 of buttons. 
 
 Notwithstanding the showy magnificence of his 
 guests, the seal-hunter, smuggler, or whatever he may 
 be, does not appear to treat them with any obsequious 
 deference. On the contrary, he is engaged with them 
 in familiar converse, and by his tone and gestures 
 shows that he feels himself quite their equal. 
 
 Two of the individuals thus oddly consorting ar« 
 
238 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 already well known to the reader ; the third but slightly. 
 The former are Francisco de Lara and Faustino Calde- 
 ron : the latter is Don Manuel Diaz, famed for his 
 fighting-cocks. The first two have just entered under 
 Itocas' roof, finding the cock- fighter already there, as 
 .De Lara predicted. 
 
 After welcoming his newly arrived guests in Spanish 
 American fashion, placing his house at their disposal, 
 — " Mia casa a la disposition de Vms" — the seal- 
 hunter has set before them a bottle of his best liquor ; 
 this being aguardiente of Tequila. The}' have taken 
 off their outer apparel, — cloaks and hats, — and are 
 seated around a small deal table, the only one the 
 shanty contains ; its furniture being of the most primi- 
 tive kind. 
 
 Some conversation of a desultory nature has passed 
 between them, and they have now entered on a subject 
 more interesting and particular, the keynote having 
 been struck by De Lara. lie opens by asking a ques- 
 tion, — 
 
 44 Caballeros! do 3-011 want to be rich? " 
 
 All three laugh while simultaneously answering, 
 ' Carramba ! Yes . ' ' 
 
 Diaz adds, " I've heard many an idle interrogatory, 
 but never, in all my life, one so superfluous as yours ; 
 not even when there's twentj- to one offered against a 
 staggering cock." 
 
 Rocas inquires, "What do ye call rich, Don Fran- 
 cisco ? ' ' 
 
 " Well," responds the month dealer, " say sixty 
 thousand dollars. I suppose you'd consider that suffi- 
 cient to bestow the title ?*' 
 
 "Certainly; not only the title, but the substantial 
 and real thing. If I'd only the half of it, I d give up 
 chasing seals." 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 239 
 
 " And I, cock-fighting," put in Diaz; "that is, so 
 far as to look to it for a living ; though I might still 
 fight a main for pastime's sake. With sixty thousand 
 dollars at my back, I'd go for being a grand ganadero, 
 like friend Faustino here, whose horses and horned 
 cattle yield him such a handsome income." 
 
 The other three laugh at this, since it is known to 
 all of them that the ganadero has long since got rid of 
 his horses and horned cattle. 
 
 "Well, gentlemen," says De Lara, after this bit of 
 preliminaiy skirmishing, " I can promise each of you 
 the sum I speak of, if you're willing to go in with me 
 in a little affair I've fixed upon. Are you the men for 
 it?" 
 
 " Your second question is more sensible than the 
 first, though equally uncalled for ; at least, so far as 
 concerns me. I'm the man to go in for airy thing 
 which promises to make me the owner of sixty thousand 
 dollars." 
 
 It is Diaz who thus unconditionally declares himself. 
 The seal-hunter indorses it by a declaration of like 
 uaring nature. Calderon simpty nods assent, but in a 
 knowing manner. He is supposed to be alread}' ac- 
 quainted with De Lara's design. 
 
 "Now, Don Francisco, let's know what you're 
 driving at!" demands Diaz, adding, "Have you 
 struck a veta, or discovered a rich placer? If so, we're 
 ready for either rock-mining or pan-washing, so long 
 as the labor's not too hard. Speak out, and tell us 
 what it is. The thought of clutching such a pretty 
 prize makes a man impatient." 
 
 "Well, I'll let you into the secret so far: it is a 
 veta, a grand gold mine, but one that will need neither 
 wck-crushing nor mud- cradling. The gold has been 
 
240 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 already gathsred, and lies in a certain place, all iu 
 a lump, only waiting transport to some other place, 
 which we ma}* select at our leisure." 
 
 '- Your wards sound well," remarks Den Manuel. 
 
 " "Wonderful well ! " echoes Rocas. 
 
 11 Are the}* not too good to be true? " asks Diaz. 
 
 " No. They're true as good. Not a bit of exag- 
 geration, I assure you. The gold 011I3* wants to be got 
 at, and then to be taken." 
 
 " Ah! There may be some difficulty about that?" 
 rejoins the doubting Diaz. 
 
 " Do you expect to finger sixty thousand pesos , 
 without taking the trouble to stretch out your hand? " 
 
 " Oh, no ! I'm not so unreasonable. For that I'd be 
 willing to stretch out both hands, with a knife in one, 
 and a pistol in the other." 
 
 " Well, it's not likely to need either, if skilfully 
 managed. I ask you again, Are you the men to go 
 in for it?" 
 
 "I'm one," answered Diaz. 
 
 " ^.nd I another," growls Rocas, whose manner tells 
 that he alread}' knows what the month dealer means. 
 
 " I'm not going to say no," assents Calderon, glan- 
 cing sj-mpalhetically at the questioner. 
 
 " Enough ! says De Lara, " so far as 3*011 consent to 
 the partnership. But, before entering fully into it, i', 
 will be necessar}* to have a more thorough understand- 
 ing, as also a more formal one. Are 3*011 willing to be 
 bound that there shall be truth between us ? " 
 
 ""We are!" is the simultaneous response of all 
 three. 
 
 " And fidelity to the death? " 
 
 "To the death! " % 
 
 " Bueno! But we must take an oath to that effect 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 241 
 
 After that, you shall know what it's for. Enough no\* 
 to say it's a thing that needs swearing upon. If there's 
 to be treason, there shall be perjury also. Are you 
 read}' to take the oath ? ' ' 
 
 The}' signify assent unanimously. 
 
 " To 3'our feet, then ! " commands the chief conspi- 
 rator. " It will be more seemly to take it standing." 
 
 All four spring up from their chairs, and stand facing 
 the table. De Lara draws a dagger, and lays it down 
 before him. The others have their stilettos too, — a 
 weapon carried by most Spanish Californians. Each 
 exhibits his own, laying it beside that already on the 
 table. With the four De Lara forms a cross, — Mal- 
 tese fashion ; and then standing erect, Diaz opposite, 
 Rocas and Calderon on either flank he repeats in firm, 
 solemn voice, the others after him : — 
 
 " In the deed ice this day agree to do, acting together 
 2nd jointly, we swear to be true to each other ; to stand 
 by one another, if need be, to the death; to keep what 
 we do a secret from all the world: and, if any one be- 
 tray it, the other three swear to follow him icherever he 
 may fee, seek him icherever he may shelter himself, and 
 take vengeance upon him by taking his life. If any of 
 is fail in this oath, may we be accursed ever after! " 
 
 This infamous ceremony duly ratified, a drink of the 
 lery spirit of the mezcal plant is a fit finale; which 
 quaffed, they take up their stilettos, replace them in 
 their sheaths, and, again sitting down, listen to De 
 Lara, to learn from him the nature of that deed for 
 doing which they have so solemnly compacted. 
 
 In a short time he makes it known in all its details ; 
 the disclosure calling for but a few words. It is, after 
 all, but a common affair, though one that needs skill 
 and courage. It is simply a " bit of burglary," but a 
 
 21 
 
242 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 big thing of its kind, He tells them of between two 
 and three hundred thousand dollars' worth of gold-dust 
 lying in a lone country-house, with no other protection 
 than that of its owner, — a feeble old man, — with 
 some half-score of Indian domestics. 
 
 There are but two of them to whom this is news, — 
 Diaz and Calderon. Rocas smiles while the revelation 
 is being made ; for he has been the original depositary 
 of the secret. It was that he communicated to De 
 Lara, when on the day before he stopped him and Cal- 
 deron at the tinacal of Dolores. It is not the first 
 time for the seal-hunter to do business of a similar 
 kind in conjunction with the gambler, who, like him- 
 self, has been accustomed to vary his professional pur- 
 suits. But, as now, he has always acted under De 
 Lara, whose clear, cool head and daring hand assure 
 him leadership in an}- scheme requiring superior intel- 
 ligence for its execution. 
 
 " How soon ? " asks Diaz, after all has been declared. 
 " I should say, the sooner the better." 
 
 " You're right about that, Don Manuel ! *' rejurns 
 Rocas. 
 
 "True!" assents De Lara. "At the same time, 
 caution must not be lost sight of. There's two of you 
 know what danger we'd be in if we went near the town, 
 or anywhere outside this snug little asylum of SeSor 
 Rocas, whose hospitality we may have to trench upon 
 for some time. I don't know, Don Rafael, whether 
 friend Diaz has told 3-ou of what happened last night?" 
 
 "He 'a given me a hint of it," gruffly replies the 
 smuggler. ' ' 
 
 " Oh, 3*es ! " puts in Diaz. " I thought he might as 
 well know." 
 
 " Of co *rse ? ' agrees De Lara. " In that case, then, 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 243 
 
 I've only to add, that there will be no salet} for us in 
 San Francisco so long as the English man-o'-war stays 
 in port. He -who broke our bank is rich enough to buy 
 law, and can set its hounds after us 03* night as by 
 day. Until he and his ship are gone " — 
 
 4 'The ship is gone," says Rocas, interrupting. 
 
 44 Ha ! What makes 3-0'u say that? " 
 
 44 Because I know it." 
 
 44 How?" 
 
 44 Simply by having seen her. Nothing like the eyei 
 to give one assurance about any thing — with a bit of 
 glass to assist them. Through that thing up there," — 
 he points to an old telescope resting on hooks against 
 the wall, — 4i I saw the English frigate beating out by 
 the Farralones when I was up on the cliff about an 
 hour ago. I knew her from having seen her lying out 
 in the baj\ She's gone to sea, for sure." 
 
 At this the others look surprised,' as well as pleased, 
 more especially Calderon. He need no longer fear 
 encountering the much-dreaded midshipman, either in 
 a duel or with his dirk. 
 
 44 It's very strange!" says De Lara. 44 I'd heard 
 the 4 Crusader ' was to sail soon, but not till another 
 ship came to relieve her." 
 
 4 ' That ship has come," returns Rocas, — 4 ' a cor- 
 vette. I saw her working up the coast last evening* 
 just before sunset. She was making for the Gate, and 
 must be inside now." 
 
 44 If all this be true," says the chief conspirator, 
 "we need lose no more time, but put on our masks, 
 and bring the affair off at once. It's too late for doing 
 any thing to-night ; but there's no reason why we 
 shouldn't act to-morrow night, if it prove a dark one. 
 We four cf us will be strength enough for such a tri 
 
244 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 fling affair. I thought of bringing Juan Lopez, our crou- 
 pier ; but I saw he wouldn't be needed. Besides, from 
 the way he's been behaving lately, I've lost confidence 
 in him. .Another reason for leaving him out will be 
 understood by all of you. In a matter of this kind, it 
 isn't the more, the merrier ; though it is the fewer, 
 the better cheer. The yellow dust will divide bigger 
 among four than five." 
 
 " It will ! " exclaims the cock-fighter with emphasis, 
 showing his satisfaction at what De Lara has done. 
 He adds, " To-morrow night, then, we are to act? " 
 
 "Yes, if it be a dark one. If not, 'twill be wiser 
 to let things lie over for the next. A day can't make 
 much difference, while the color of the night may. A 
 moonlit sky, or a clear starry one, might get us all 
 where we'd see stars without an}' being visible — with 
 a rope round our necks." 
 
 " There'll be no moon to-morrow night," puts in the 
 e muggier, who, in this branch of his varied vocations, 
 lias been accustomed to take account of such things ; 
 " at least," he adds, " none that will do us an}' harm. 
 The fog's sure to be on before midnight : at this time 
 of year it always is. To-morrow night will be like 
 the last,' — black as a pot of pitch." 
 
 "True," says De Lara, as a man of the sea, also 
 having some slight meteorological knowledge. " No 
 doubt 'twill be as }'ou say, Rocas. In that case we 
 have nothing to fear. We can have the job done, and 
 be back here before morning. Ah ! then seated round 
 this table, we'll not be like we are now, poor as rats, 
 but even' one with his pile before him, — sixty thou- 
 sand pesos." 
 
 " Carramba! " exclaims Diaz in a mocking tone. 
 "While saying vespers to-night, let's put m a special 
 
A STOHY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 245 
 
 prsyer for to-morrow night to be what Rocas says it 
 will, — black as a pot of pitch." 
 
 The profane suggestion is hailed with a burst of 
 ribald laughter ; after which, they set about preparing 
 the mascaras, and other disguises, to be used in theii 
 nefarious enterprise. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIL 
 
 AMBRE LA PUERTAI 
 
 f »» 
 
 ANOTHER sun has shone upon San Francisco Bay, 
 and gone down in red gleam over the far-spread- 
 ing Pacific, leaving the sky of a leaden color, moonless 
 and starless. As the hour of midnight approaches, it 
 assumes the hue predicted by Rocas, and desired by 
 Diaz ; for the ocean fog has again rolled shoreward 
 across the peninsula, and shrouds San Francisco as 
 with a pall. The adjacent country is covered with its 
 funereal curtain, embracing within its folds the house 
 of Don Gregorio Montijo. The inmates seem all asleep, 
 as at this hour they should be. No light is seen through 
 Jthe windows, nor any sound heard within the walls ; 
 not even the bark of a dog, the bellow of a stalled ox, 
 or the stamping of a horse in the stables. Inside, a3 
 without, all is silence. The profound silence seems 
 strange, though favorable to four men not far from the 
 house, and gradually, but with slow steps, drawing 
 nearer to it ; for they are approaching by stealth, as 
 can be told by their attitudes and gestures. They ad- 
 vance ciouchingly, now and then stopping to take a 
 
 21* 
 
246 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 survey of the terrain in front, as they do so cxchan 
 ging whispered speech with one another. 
 
 Through the hazy atmosphere, their figures show 
 weird-like ; all the more, from their grotesque gesticu- 
 lation. Scrutinized closely and in a clear light, they 
 would still present this appearance ; for although in 
 human shape, and wearing the garb of men, their faces 
 more resemble those of demons. The}- are huu.ar. 
 countenances, nevertheless, but craped, enmascaradas. 
 Nothing more is needed to tell who and what they are, 
 with their purpose in thus approaching Don Gregorio's 
 dwelling. They are burglars, designing to break it. 
 
 It needs not the removal of their masks to identify 
 them as the four conspirators left plotting in the ranclie 
 of Rafael Rocas. 
 
 They are now en route for putting their scheme into 
 execution. 
 
 It would look as if Don Gregorio were never to get 
 his gold to Panama, much less have it transported to 
 Spain. 
 
 And his daughter — what of her, with Francisco de 
 Lara drawing nigh as one of the nocturnal ravagers? 
 His grand-daughter, too — Faustino Calderon being 
 another ! 
 
 One cognizant of the existing relations, and specta- 
 tor of what is passing now, seeing the craped robbers 
 as they steal on towards the house, would suppose it 
 in danger of being doubly despoiled, and that its owner 
 is to suffer desolation not only in fortune, but in that 
 far dearer to him, — his family. 
 
 The burglars are approaching from the front, up the 
 avenue, though not on it. The}- keep along its edge, 
 among the munzanita bushes. These, with the fog, 
 atford sufficient screen to prevent their being observed 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 247 
 
 rrom ike house, even though sentinels were set upon its 
 azotea But there appears to be none, — no eye to see, 
 no voice co give warning, not even the bark of a watch- 
 dog to wake those unconsciously slumbering within. 
 
 As already said, there is something strange in this 
 On a large grazing-estate, it is rare for the Molossian 
 to be silent. More usually, his sonorous bay is heard 
 sounding throughout the night, or at short intervals. 
 Though any thing but desirous to hear the barking of 
 dogs, the burglars are, nevertheless, puzzled at the uni- 
 versal silence, so long continued. For, before entering 
 the enclosure, the}' have been lying concealed in a 
 thicket outside, their horses tied to the trees where they 
 have left them ; and during all the time not a sound hafs 
 reached them, — not a voice, either of man or animal. 
 The}' are now within sight of the house, its massive 
 front looming large and dark through the mist : still no 
 sound outside, and, within, the stillness of death itself. 
 
 Along with astonishment, a sense of awe is felt by 
 one of the four criminals, — Calderon, who has still 
 some lingering reluctance as to the deed about to be 
 done, or it may be but fear. The other three are too 
 strong in courage, and too hardened .in crime, for 
 scruples of any kind. 
 
 Arriving at the end of the avenue, and within a short 
 distance of the dwelling, they stop for a final consul- 
 tation, still screened by a clump of manzanitas. All 
 silent as ever ; no one stirring ; no light from any win- 
 dow ; the shutters closed behind the rejas, — the great 
 puerta, as well. 
 
 " Now about getting inside," says De Lara. " What 
 will he our best way? " 
 
 "In my opinion," answers Diaz, " we'll do best bj 
 climbing up to the azotea, and over it into the patio-*' 
 
248 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 " Where's your ladder?" asks Rocas in his gruff, 
 olimt way. 
 
 "We must find one — or something that'll stive 
 instead. There should be loose timber lying about 
 the corrals, enough to provide us with a climbing- 
 pole." 
 
 " And, while searching for it, wake up some of the 
 vaqueros. That won't do." 
 
 " Then what do you propose, Rafael? " interrogates 
 De Lara. 
 
 The seal-hunter, with his presumed experience in 
 housebreaking, is listened to with attention. 
 
 "Walk straight up to the door," he answers, "knock, 
 :*nd ask to be admitted." 
 
 "Ay! and have a blunderbuss fired at us, with a 
 shower of bullets big as billiard-balls. Carrai!" It 
 is Calderon who speaks thus apprehensively. 
 
 "Not the least danger of that!" rejoins Rocas. 
 " Take my word, we'll be let in." 
 
 "Why do you think so?" 
 
 "Why? Because we have a claim on the hospitality 
 of the house." 
 
 " I don't understand you, Rocas," says De Lara. 
 
 " Haven't we a good story to tell, simple, and tc the 
 purpose ? ' ' 
 
 " Still I don't understand. Explain yourself, Rafael. ' 
 
 " Don't we come as messengers from the man-of- 
 war, — from those officers you've been telling me 
 about?" 
 
 " Ah ! now I perceive 3'our drift." 
 
 " One can so announce himself, while the others 
 keep out of sight. He can sa} 7 he's been sent by the 
 young gentlemen on an errand to Don Gregorio, or the 
 senoritas if } r ou like. Something of importance affect 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 249 
 
 ;ng their departure. True, by this they'll k/.ow the 
 ship's weighed anchor. No matter: the stoiy of a 
 message will staud good all the same." 
 
 " Rafael Rocas," exclaims "n* Lara, "you're a bora 
 genius ! Instead of being forced to do a little smug- 
 gling now and then, you ought to be made administra- 
 tor-general of customs. We shall act as you advise. 
 No doubt the door will be opened. When it is, one 
 can take charge of the janitor. He's a sexagenarian, 
 and won't be hard to hold. If he struggle, let him be 
 silenced. The rest of us can go ransacking. You, 
 Calderon, are acquainted with the interior, and, as 3-011 
 say, know the room where Don Gregorio is most likely 
 to keep his chest. You must lead us straight for that." 
 
 "But, Francisco," whispers Calderon in the ear of 
 his confederate, after drawing him a little apart from 
 the other two, " about the 7iinas? You don't intend 
 any thing with them? 
 
 " Certainly not, not to-night, nor in this fashion. 1 
 hope being able to approach them in gentler guise, and 
 more becoming time. When they're without a peso in 
 the world, they'll be less proud, and may be contented 
 to stay a little longer in California. To-night we've 
 enough on our hands without that. One thing at a 
 time, — their money first, themselves afterwards." 
 
 " But suppose they should recognize us? " 
 
 " They can't. Disguised as we are, I defy a man f s 
 mother to know him. If the}- did, then " — 
 
 "Then what?" 
 
 " No use reflecting what. Don't be so scared, man ! 
 If I'd anticipated any chance of its coming to extremes 
 of the kind you're thinking about, I wouldn't be here 
 prepared for onlv half-measures. Perhaps we sha'n't 
 even wake the ladies up ; an.l, if we do, there's not tae 
 
250 TltE FLAG OF LUSTRES S. 
 
 slightest danger of our being known. So make your 
 mind easy, and let's get through with it. See ! Diaz 
 and Rocas are getting impatient. We must rejoin Ihem, 
 and proceed to business at once." 
 
 The four housebreakers again set their heads together, 
 and after a few whispered words, to complete their 
 plan of proceeding, advance towards the door. Once 
 up to it, they stand close in, concealed by its over- 
 shadowing arch. 
 
 With the butt of his pistol, De Lara knocks. 
 
 Diaz, unknown to the family, and therefore without 
 fear of his voice being recognized, is to do the talking. 
 
 No one answers the knock ; and it is repeated, louder 
 and still louder. "The sexagenarian janitor sleeps 
 soundly to-night," thinks De Lara, deeming it strange. 
 Another " rat-at-ta " with the pistol-butt, followed by 
 the usual formulary, " Ambre la puerta!" ("Open 
 the door.") At length comes a response from within, 
 but not the customary " Quen es? " (" Who's there? ") 
 nor an}* thing in Spanish On the contrary, the speech 
 which salutes the ears of those seeking admission is in 
 a different tongue, and tone altogether unlike that of 
 a native Californian. 
 
 " Who the old scratch are ye? " asks a voice from 
 Inside ; while a heavy footstep is heard coming along 
 the saugan. Bf °ore the startled burglars can shape a 
 reply, the voice continues, " Darn ye ! what d'ye want 
 anyhow, wakin' a fellur out o' his sleep at this time o' 
 the night? 'T would sarvc 3-e right if I sent a bullet 
 through the door at ye. Take care what you're about ! 
 I've got nry shootiu'-iron handy, an' a Colt's revolver it 
 air." 
 
 " Por Bios I What dees this mean?" mutters Ds 
 Lara. 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 251 
 
 " Tell him, Diaz," he adds in sotto voce to the cock- 
 fighter, — " tell him we're from the British man-of-war, 
 with — Carrai! I forgot: you don't speak English. 
 I must do it myself. He won't know who it is. ' ' Then 
 raising his voice, " We want to see Don Gregorio 
 M mtijo. We bring a message from the ship ' Cru- 
 sader,' — from the two officers." 
 
 " Consarn the ship ' Croozader/ an' yur message, 
 an' yur two officers : I know nothin' 'bout them. *As 
 for Don Gregorio, if ye want to get sight on him, 3-e're 
 a preeshus way wide o' the mark. He arn't here any 
 more. He's gin up the house yesterday, an' tuk every 
 thing o' hisn out o't. I'm only here in charge o' the 
 place. Guess you'll find both the Don an' his darters 
 at the Parker, — the most likeliest place to tree thet 
 lot." 
 
 Don Gregorio gone ! — his gold, his girls ! Only an 
 erupty house, in charge of a care-taker, who carries a 
 Colt's repeating-pistol, and would use it on the slightest 
 provocation ! No good going inside now, but a deal 
 of danger. Any thing but pleasant medicine would 
 be a pill from that six-shooter. 
 
 Many are the wild exclamations that issue from the 
 lips of the disappointed housebreakers as they turn 
 away from Don Gregorio's dismantled dwelling, and 
 hasten to regain their horses. 
 
252 THE FLAG OF PTSTRRSS. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 A SCRATCH CREW. 
 
 IT was a fortunate inspiration that led the ex-haeien* 
 dado to have his gold secretly carried on board the 
 Chilian ship ; another, that influenced him to transfer 
 his family and household gods to an hotel in the town. 
 
 It was all done in a da} T , — that same day. Every 
 hour after the sailing of the "Crusader" had he 
 become more anxious ; for every hour brought intelli- 
 gence of some new act of outlawiy in the neighborhood, 
 impressing him with the insecurity, not only of his 
 Penates, but of the lives of himself and the young 
 ladies. So long as the British ship lay in port, it 
 seemed a protection to him ; and, although this may 
 have been but fanc} r , it served somewhat to tranquillize 
 his fears. Soon as she was gone, he gave way to them, 
 summoned Silvestre, with a numerous retinue of carga- 
 dores, and swept the house clean of eveiy thing he 
 intended taking; the furniture alone being left as 
 part of the purchased effects. It is a company of 
 speculators to whom he has sold the property ; these 
 designing to cut it up into town-lots and suburban villa- 
 sites. 
 
 He has reason to congratulate himself on his rapid 
 removal, as he finds on the following da} T , when visit 
 ing his old home for some trifling purpose, and there 
 hearing what had happened during the night. The man 
 in charge — a stalwart American, armed to the teeth 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 25S 
 
 ■ — gives him a full account of the nocturnal visitors. 
 There were four, he says, — having counted them 
 through the keyhole of the door, — inquiring for him, 
 Don Gregorio. The} T appeared greatly disappointed 
 at not getting an interview with him, and went off 
 uttering adjurations in Spanish, though having held 
 their parley in plain English. 
 
 A message from the British man-of-war, and brought 
 by men who swore in Spanish ! Strange all that, thinks 
 Don Gregorio, knowing the "Crusader" should then 
 be at least a hundred leagues off at sea. Besides, the 
 messengers have not presented themselves at the 
 Parker House, to which the care-taker Lad directed 
 them. "What could it mean?" asks the ex-liacien- 
 dado of himself. Perhaps the sailor who is now first 
 officer of the Chilian ship maj* know something of it ; 
 and he will question him next time he goes aboard. 
 He has, however, but little hope of being enlightened 
 in that quarter ; his suspicions turning elsewhere. He 
 cannot help connecting Messrs. De Lara and Calderon 
 with the occurrence. Crozier's letter, coupled with 
 further information received from the bearer of it, has 
 thrown such a light on the character of these two indi- 
 viduals, that he can believe them capable of any thing. 
 After their attempt to rob the j'oung officers, and mur- 
 der them as well, the} T would not hesitate to serve 
 others the same ; and the demand for admission to his 
 house ma} T have been made by these very men, with a 
 couple of confederates ; their design to plunder it, if 
 not worse. 
 
 Thus reflecting, he is thankful for having so uncon- 
 sciously foiled them ; indeed deeming it a providence. 
 Still is he all the more solicitous to leave a land beset 
 *rith such dangers. Even in the town he does not feel 
 
 22 
 
254 THE FLAG OF D [STRESS. 
 
 safe. Robbers and murderers walk boldly abroad 
 through the streets ; not alone, but in the company of 
 judges who have tried without condemning them ; while 
 lesser criminals stand b} T drinking-bars, hob-nobbing 
 with the constables who either hold them in charge, or 
 have just released them after a mock hearing before 
 some magistrate, with e} T es blind as those of Justice 
 herself, — blinded by the gold-dust of California. 
 
 Notwithstanding all this, Don Gregorio need have 
 no fear for his ladies. Their sojourn at the hotel may 
 be somewhat irksome and uncongenial, still are the} 7 
 safe. Rough-looking and boisterous as are some of 
 their fellow-guests, they are yet in no way rude. The 
 most sensitive ladj T need not fear moving in their midst. 
 A word or gesture of insult to her would call forth in- 
 stant resentment. 
 
 It is not on their account he continues anxious, but 
 because of his unprotected treasure. Though secreted 
 aboard the " Condor," it is still unsafe. Should its 
 whereabouts get whispered abroad, there are robbers 
 bold enough, not onry to take it from the Chilian skip- 
 per, but set fire to his ship, himself in her, and cover 
 their crime by burning even' thing up. Aware of this, 
 Don Gregorio, with the help of friendly Silvestre, has 
 half a dozen trusty men placed aboard of her, there 
 to stay till a crew can be engaged. It is a costly mat- 
 ter ; but money may save money, and now is not the 
 time to cavil at expenses. 
 
 As 3 T et, not a sailor has presented himself. None 
 seems caring to ship " for Valparaiso and intermediate 
 ports," even at the double wages offered in the adver- 
 tisement. The "Condor's" forecastle remains un- 
 tenanted, except hy the six longshore -men, who tempo- 
 rarily occupy it, without exactly knowing why they are 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 255 
 
 there, but contented to make no inquiry so long as 
 they are receiving their ten dollars a day. Of crew, 
 there is onl}' the captain himself, his first officer, and 
 the cook. The orangs do not count. 
 
 Day by day Don Gregorio grows more impatient, 
 and is in constant communication with Silvestre. c ' Offer 
 higher wages," he says : " engage sailors at any price." 
 The ship-agent j'ields assent ; inserts a second aviso in 
 the Spanish paper, addressed to " marineros of all 
 nations." Triple wages to those who will take service 
 on a well-appointed ship ; in addition, all the usual 
 allowances, the best of grub and grog. Surely this 
 should get the " Condor" a crew. 
 
 And at length it does. Within twenty-four hours 
 after the advertisement has appeared, sailors begin to 
 show on her deck. They come singly, or in twos and 
 threes, and keep coming, till as many as half a score 
 have presented themselves. They belong to different 
 nationalities, speaking several tongues, among them 
 English, French, and Danish. But the majority ap- 
 pear to be Spaniards, or Spanish Americans, as might 
 have been expected from the " Condor " being a Chil- 
 ian ship. Among them is the usual variety of facial 
 expression, though in one respect a wonderful uni- 
 formity. Scarce a man of them whose countenance is 
 not in some way unprepossessing ; either naturally of 
 sinister cast, or brought to it by a career of sinful dis- 
 sipation. Several of them show signs of having been 
 recently drinking, in eyes bleary and bloodshot ; of 
 strife, too, by other eyes that are blackened, with scars 
 upon their cheeks not yet cicatrized. Some are still in 
 a state of inebriety, and stagger as they stray about 
 the decks. 
 
 Under any other circumstances, .such sailors woulf 
 
256 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 stand no chance of getting shipped. As it is, they are 
 accepted, not one refused : Capt. Lantanas has no choice, 
 and knows it. Without them he is helpless ; and i* 
 would be hopeless for him to think of putting to sea. 
 If he do not take them, the " Condor " may swing idly 
 hi hci anchor for weeks, it might be months. Quick as 
 they come aboard, he enters their names on the ship's 
 books ; while Harry Blew assigns them their separate 
 bunks in the fore-peak. One, a Spaniard, by name 
 Padilla, shows credentials from some former ship that 
 procure for him the berth of piloto segundo (second 
 mate). 
 
 After the ten have been taken, no more present 
 themselves. Even the big bounty offered docs not 
 tempt another tar from the saloons of San Francisco. 
 In airy other seaport it would empty eveiy sailors' 
 boarding-house to its last lodger. Still ten hands are 
 not enough to work the good ship " Condor." Her 
 captain knows it, and waits another day, hoping he 
 may get a few more to complete her complement. He 
 hopes in vain : the supply seems exhausted. Becom- 
 ing convinced of this, he determines to set sail with 
 such crew as he has secured. But little more remains 
 to be done, — some stores to be shipped, provisions for 
 the voyage, the best and freshest San Francisco can 
 afford; for he who authorizes their inlay cares not 
 for the cost, only that things ma} T be made comforta- 
 ble. Don Gregorio gives carte-blanche for providing 
 the vessel ; and it is done according to his directions. 
 At length everything is ready, and the "Condor" 
 only awaits her passengers. Her cabin has been hand- 
 sonidy furnished, its best state-room decorated to re- 
 ceive two ladies, fair as ever set foot on hoard a ship. 
 
STOBY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 257 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 "adios, California!" 
 
 ANOTHER sunrise over San Francisco, in 1 11 like- 
 lihood the last Don Gregorio Montijo will ever 
 witness in California ; for just as the orb of day shows 
 its disk above the dome-shaped silhouette of Monte 
 Diablo, flinging its golden shimmer across the bay, a 
 boat leaves the town-pier, bearing him and his towards 
 the Chilian vessel, whose signals for sailing are out. 
 Others are in the boat, — a large party of ladies and 
 gentlemen, who accompany them to do a last hand- 
 shaking on board the ship ; for, in quitting California, 
 the ex-haciendado leaves man}' friends behind, among 
 them, some who will pass sleepless hours thinking of 
 Carmen Montijo, and others whose hearts will be sore 
 as their thoughts turn to Inez Alvarez. It may be 
 ihat none of these is in the boat, and better for them if 
 the}' are not ; since the most painful of all partings is 
 that where the lover sees his sweetheart sail away, with 
 the knowledge she cares neither to stay, nor come back. 
 
 The two 3 T oung girls going off show but little sign 
 of regret at leaving. They are hindered by remem- 
 brance of the last words spoken at another parting, 
 now painfully recalled, " Hasta Cadiz! " The thought 
 ;>f that takes the sting out of this. 
 
 The boat reaches the ship, and, swinging around, lies 
 alongside. Capt. Lantanas stands by the gangway to 
 receive his passengers, with their friends ; while his 
 first olicer helps thorn up the man-ropes. 
 
 22* 
 
253 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 Among the ladies, Harry Blew distinguishes the two 
 he is to have charge of, and with them is specially 
 careful. As their soft, gloved fingers rest in his rough, 
 horny hand, he mentally registers a vow, that it shall 
 nevei fail them in the hour of need, if such there evei 
 bo. 
 
 On the cabin-table is spread a refection of the best ; 
 and around it the leave-takers assemble, the Chilian 
 skipper doing the honors of his ship, and gracefully ; 
 for he is in truth a gentleman. 
 
 Half an hour of merry-making, light chatter, en- 
 livened by the popping of corks and clinking of glasses ; 
 then ten minutes of converse more serious, after which, 
 hurried graspings of the hand, and a general scatter- 
 ing towards the shore-boat, which soon after moves off 
 amid exclamations of "Adios! " and " Bueno viage!" 
 accompanied b}- the waving of hands, and white slender 
 fingers saluting, with tremulous motion, like the quiver 
 of a kestrel's wing, — the fashion of the Spanish 
 American fair. 
 
 While the boat is being rowed back to the shore, the 
 u Condor" spreads sail, and stands away towards the 
 Golden Gate. 
 
 She is soon out of sight of the port, having entered 
 the strait which gi\es access to the great landlocked 
 estuaiy. But a wind blowing in from the west hindeis 
 her ; anct she is all the day tacking through the eight 
 miles of narrow water which connect San Francisco 
 Bay with the Pacific. 
 
 The sun is nigh set as she passes the old Spanish 
 fort, and opens view of the outside ocean. But the 
 heavenly orb that rose over Monte Diablo like a globe 
 of goid goes down beyond Los Farallones more resem- 
 bling a ball of fire about to be quenched in the sea. 
 
A STOPwY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 259 
 
 lb is still only half immersed in the blue liquid ex 
 panse, when, gliding out from the portals of the Gol 
 den Gate, the " Condor " rounds Seal Rock, and stands 
 on hei course W.S.W. 
 
 The wind has shifted, the evening breeze beginning 
 to blow steadily from the land. This is favorable ; and 
 after tacks have been set, and sails sheeted home, there 
 is but little work to be done. 
 
 As it is the hour of the second dog-watch, the sailors 
 are all on deck, grouped about the fore-hatch, and glee- 
 fully conversing. Here and there an odd individual 
 stands by the side, with e3~es turned shoreward, taking 
 a last look at the land ; not as*if he regretted leaving 
 it, but is rather glad to get away. More than one of 
 the " Condor's " crew have reason to feel thankful that 
 the Chilian craft is carrying them from a countiy, 
 where, had they staid much longer, it would have 
 been to find lodgement in a jail. Out at sea, their faces 
 seem no better favored than when the} r first stepped 
 aboard. Scarce recovered from their shore carousing, 
 they show swollen cheeks, and eyes inflamed with alco- 
 hol, countenances from which the breeze of the Pacific, 
 however pure, cannot remove that sinister expression. 
 
 At sight of them and the two fair creatures sailing 
 in the same ship, a thought about the incongruity, as 
 also the insecurity", of such companion;, hip, cannot 
 help coming uppermost. It is like two beautiful birds 
 of paradise shut up in the same cage with half a score 
 of wolves, tigers, and hyenas. 
 
 But the birds of paradise are not troubling them- 
 selves about this, or any thing else in the ship. Lin- 
 ger ing abaft the binnacle, with their hands resting on 
 the taffrail, the}' look back at the land, their eyes fixed 
 upon the summit of a hill, ere 1/ ng to become lost tc 
 
260 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 their view by the setting of the sun. They have been 
 standing so for some time in silence, when Iiiez says^ 
 " I can tell what }~ou're thinking of, tia." 
 
 " Indeed ! can you? Well, let me hear it." 
 
 " You're saying to yourself, ' What a beautiful hill 
 that is 3 T onder ! and how I should like to be once more 
 upon its top ! — not alone, but with somebody beside 
 me.' Now, tell the truth, isn't that it? " 
 
 " Tho^e are 3'our own thoughts, sobrina." 
 
 " I admit it, and also that the}' are pleasant. Thc^ 
 are yours also, are the}' not? " 
 
 " O11I3' in part. I have others, which I suppose you 
 can share with me." ° 
 
 "What others? " 
 
 " Reflections not all agreeable, but quite the con- 
 trary." 
 
 " Again distressing yourself about that ! It does 
 not give me any concern, and didn't from the first." 
 
 "No? " 
 
 " No ! " 
 
 " Well, I must sa} r }'ou take things easily ; which I 
 don't. A lover — engaged too — to go awa} r in that 
 sans favon manner ! Not so much as a note, nor even 
 a verbal message. Santissima I it was something more 
 than rude : it was cruel ; and I can't help thinking 
 so." 
 
 " But there was a message in the letter to grand* 
 papa for both of us. What more would you wish? " 
 
 " Pff! whd cares for parting compliments ? A lepero 
 v ould send better to his sweetheart in sleeveless ca- 
 misa. That's not the message for me." 
 
 " How can you tell there wasn't some other, which 
 has miscarried ? I'm almost sure there has been. Else 
 why should somebody have knocked at the door, and 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 26* 
 
 ga id so? The Americano left in charge of the house 
 has told grandpa something about four men having 
 come thero the night after we left it. One may have 
 been the messenger, the others going with him for 
 company ; and, through his neglect, we've not got let- 
 ters intended for us. Or, if they haven't written, it's 
 because the}' were pressed for time. However, we 
 shall know when we meet them at Cadiz." 
 
 "Ah! When we meet them there, I'll demand an 
 explanation from Eduaro. That shall I, and get it — 
 or know the reason why." 
 
 " He will give a good one, I warrant. There's been 
 a miscarriage somehow ; for hasn't there been mystery 
 all round? Luckily, no fighting, as we feared, and 
 have reason to rejoice. Neither any thing seen or 
 heard of 3 T our Californian chivalry! That's the stran- 
 gest thing of all." 
 
 "It is indeed strange!" rejoins Carmen, showing 
 emotion. " I wonder what became of them. Nobody 
 that we know has met either, after that day, nor ye* 
 heard word of them." 
 
 " Carmen, I believe one has heard of them." 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 "Your father." 
 
 " What makes 3-011 think so, Inez? " 
 
 " Some words I overheard while he was conversing 
 with the English sailor who's now in the ship with us. 
 I'm almost certain there was something in Mr. Cro- 
 zier's letter that related to De Lara and Calderon. 
 What it was grandpapa seems desirous of keeping to 
 himself, else he would have told us. We must en- 
 deavor to find it out from the sailor." 
 
 " You're a cunning schemer, sobrina. I should 
 never liavo. thought of that. We shall try. Now I 
 
262 THE FLAG OF DISTEESS. 
 
 remember, Eduardo once saved this man's life. Wasn't 
 it a noble, daring deed? For all, I'm mad angry with 
 him leaving me as he did, and sha'n't be pacified till 
 he get upon his knees, and apologize for it. That he 
 shall do at Cadiz!" 
 
 " To confess the truth, tia, I was a little spited 
 myself at first. On reflection, I feel sure there's been 
 some mischance, and we've been wronging thein both 
 I sha'n't blame my darling till I see him again. Then, 
 if he can't clear himself — oh, won't I? " 
 
 " You forgive too easily. I can't." 
 
 " Yes, you can. Look at yonder hill. Recall the 
 pleasant hour passed upon it, and 3'ou'll be lenient as 
 I am." 
 
 Carmen obej's, and again turns her glance toward 
 the spot sacred to sweet memories. 
 
 As she continues to gaze at it, the cloud lifts from 
 her brow, replaced by a smile, that promises easy 
 pardon to him who has offended her. 
 
 In silence the two stand, straining their eyes upon 
 the far summit, till shore and sea become one, both 
 blending into the purple of twilight. 
 
 " Adios, California! " 
 
 Land no longer in sight. The ship is au large on 
 She ocean , 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SKA. 263 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 A TATTOO THAT NEEDS RETOUCHING. 
 
 rXl HE great Pacific current in many respects resem- 
 I bles the Gulf Stream of the Atlatnic. Passing 
 eastward under the Aleutian Archipelago, it impinges 
 upon the American continent, b}' Vancouver's Island ; 
 thence setting southward, along the Californian coast, 
 curves round, horseshoe shape, and strikes back for 
 the centre of the South Sea, sweeping on past the 
 Sandwich Isles. By this disposition, a ship bound from 
 San Francisco for Honolulu has the flow in her favor ; 
 and, if the wind be also favorable, she will make fast 
 way. As chance has it, both are propitious to the 
 " Crusader;" and the war-ship, standing for the 
 Sandwich Islands, will likely reach them after an in- 
 credibly short voyage. There are two individuals on 
 board of her who wish it to be so, counting eveiy day, 
 almost every hour, of her course. Not that they have 
 an}' desire to visit the dominions of King Kamekameha, 
 or expect pleasure there : on the contraiy, if left to 
 themselves, the "Crusader's" staj- in the harbor of 
 Honolulu would not last longer than necessaiy to pro- 
 cure a boat-load of bananas, and replenish her hen- 
 coops with fat Kanaka fowls. 
 
 It is scarce necessaiy to say that they who are thus 
 indifferent to the delights of Owj'hee are the late- 
 made lieutenant Crozier, and the midshipman Cad- 
 wallader. The bronzed Hawaiian beanies wilJ hava 
 
^64 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 small attraction for them. Not the slightest dange* 
 of either yielding to the blandishments oft lavishly be- 
 stowed upon sailors by these seductive damsels of the 
 Southern Sea ; for the hearts of both are yet thrilling 
 with the remembrance of smiles vouchsafed them by 
 other daughters of the sunny South, of a far different 
 race, — thrilling, too, with the anticipation of again 
 basking in these smiles under the sky of Andalusia. 
 
 It needs hope, all the}- can command, to cheer them ; 
 not because the time is long, and the place distant: 
 sailors are accustomed to long separation from those 
 they love, and so habituated to patience. It is no 
 particular uneasiness of this kind which shadows their 
 brows, and makes every mile of the voyage seem a 
 league. Nor are their spirits clouded by an}' reflections 
 on that which vexed them just before leaving San 
 Francisco. If they have any feelings about it, they 
 are rather those of repentance for suspicions which 
 both believe to have been as unfounded as unworthy. 
 What troubles them now (for they are troubled) has 
 nought to do with that ; nor is it any doubt as to the 
 loyalty of their financees, but fear for their safety. It 
 is not well defined, but like some dream which haunts 
 them, — at times so slight as to cause little concern, at 
 other times filling them with anxiety. But, in what- 
 ever degree felt, it always assumes the same shape : 
 two figures conspicuous in it besides those of their 
 betrothed sweethearts, two faces of evil omen, — one 
 that of Calderon, the other De Lara's. What the young 
 officers saw of these men, and what more they learned 
 of them before leaving San Francisco, makes natural 
 their misgivings and justifies their fears. Something 
 seems to whisper them that there is danger to be 
 dreadel from the gamblers, desperadoes as they have 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 26r> 
 
 shown themselves ; that through them some eventuality 
 may arise affecting the future of Carmen Montijo ami 
 Inez Alvarez, so as to prevent their escape from Cali- 
 fornia. Escape ! Yes, that is the word Messrs. 
 Crozier and Cadwallader make use of in their con- 
 versation on the subject, the form in which their fear 
 presents itself. 
 
 Before reaching the Sandwich Islands, they receive a 
 scrap of intelligence, which in some respect cheers 
 them. It has become known to the "Crusader's' 
 crew that the frigate is to make but short stay there, — 
 will not even enter the harbor of Honolulu. The com- 
 mission intrusted to her captain is of ho very impor- 
 tant nature : he is simply to leave an official despatch, 
 with some commands for the British consul ; after 
 which, head round again, and straight for Panama. 
 
 "Good news, isn't it, Ned?" says Cadwallader to 
 his senior, as the two, on watch together, stand convers- 
 ing. "With the quick time we've made from 'Frisco, 
 as the Yankees call it, and no delay to speak of in the 
 Sandwiches, we ought to get to the Isthmus as soon as 
 the Chilian ship." 
 
 " True. But it will a good deal depend on the tl^e 
 the Chilian ship leaves San Francisco. Xo doubt 
 she'd have great difficult}' in getting a sufficient num- 
 ber of hands. Blew told you there were but the cap- 
 tain and himself." 
 
 "Only they and the cook, — an old dark}', a run- 
 away slave, he said, besides a brace of great red 
 baboens — orangs. That was the whole of her crew 
 by last report. "Well, in one way we ought to be glac 
 she's so short," continues the midshipman. "It ma} 
 give us the chance of reaching Panama before her; 
 and, as the frigate's destined to put into that port. w<j 
 
266 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 may meet the dear girls again sooner thau we ex- 
 pected." 
 
 "I hope and trust we shall. I'd give a thousand 
 pounds to be sure of it. It would lift a load off my 
 mind, the heaviest I ever had on it." 
 
 "Off mine too. But, even if we don't reach Pan 
 ama before them, we'll hear whether thej T, ve passed 
 through there. If they have, that'll set things right 
 enough. We'll then know the3''re safe, and will be so. 
 Hasta Cadiz." 
 
 "It seems a good omen," says Crozier reflectingly, 
 " that we are not to be delaj-ed at the islands." 
 
 " It does," rejoins Cadwallader. " Though, but for 
 the other thing, I'd liked it better if we were to stay 
 there, only for a day or two." 
 
 " For what reason? " 
 
 "There!" sa}'s the midshipman, pulling up his 
 shirt-sleeve, and laying bare his arm to the elbow. 
 " Look at that, lieutenant ! " 
 
 The lieutenant looks, and sees upon the skin, white 
 as alabaster, a bit of tattooing. It is the figure of a 
 young girl, somewhat scantily robed, with long stream- 
 ing tresses ; hair, contour, countenance, every thiug, 
 done in the deepest indigo. 
 
 " Some old sweetheart?" suggests Crozier. 
 
 "It is." 
 
 " But she can't be a Sandwich Island belle. You've 
 never been there." 
 
 " No, she isn't. She's a little Chilena, whose ac- 
 quaintance I made last spring, while we lay at Val- 
 paraiso. Grummet, the cutter's cockswain, did the 
 tattoo for me as we came up the Pacific. He nadn'* 
 quite time to finish it, as you see. There was to be a 
 picture of the Chilian flag over her head, and, undei* 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 207 
 
 neath, the girl's name or initials. I'm now glad they 
 didn't go in." 
 
 "But what the dense has all this to do with the 
 Sandwich Islands ? ' ' 
 
 ' 'Only that I intended to have the thing taken out 
 there. Grummet tells me he can't do it, but that the 
 Kanakas can. He says they've got some trick for 
 extracting the staiu without scarring the skin, or only 
 very slightly." 
 
 "But why should you care about removing it? I 
 acknowledge tattooing is not nice on the epidermis of 
 a gentleman ; and I've met scores, like 3 T ourself, sorry 
 for having submitted to it. After all, what does ife 
 signify? Nobody need ever see it, unless you wish 
 them to." 
 
 " There's where you mistake. Somebody might see 
 it, without my wishing ; sure to see it, if ever I get" — 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "Spliced." 
 
 "Ah! Inez?" 
 
 "Yes, Inez. Now you understand why I'd like to 
 spend a day or two among the South-Sea-Islanders. 
 If I can't get the thing taken out, I'll be in a dilemma. 
 I know Inez would be indulgent in a good many ways ; 
 but, when she sees that blue image on my arm, she'll 
 look black enough. And what am I to say about it? 
 I told her she was the first sweetheart I ever had ; as 
 you know, Ned, a little bit of a fib. Only a- white 
 one ; for the Chilena was only a mere fancy, gone out 
 of my mind long ago, as, no doubt, I am out of hers. 
 The question is, How's her picture to be got out of my 
 skin? I'd give something to know." 
 
 "If that's all your trouble, you needn't be at any 
 expense, except what yon may tip old Grummet. You 
 
?38 THE FLAG OP DISTRESS. 
 
 pvay he has not completed the portrait of 3'our Chilcna. 
 'fmt's pk,in enough, looking at the shortness of hei 
 »Vir^»s Now let him go on, and lengthen them a little, 
 Tt)p,n finish by putting a Spanish flag over her head, 
 ©stead of the Chilian as you intended ; and, under- 
 neath, the initials ' I. A.' With that on your arm, you 
 aiay safely show it at Cadiz." 
 
 " A splendid idea ! The very thing ! The only dif- 
 ficulty is, that this picture of the Chilian girl isn't any 
 thing like as good-looking as Inez. Besides, it would 
 never pass for her portrait." 
 
 " Let me see : I'm not so sure about that. I think, 
 .with a few more touches, it will stand well enough for 
 your Andalusian. Grummet's given her all the wealth 
 of hair 3 T ou're so constantly bragging about. The only 
 poverty's in that petticoat ; but, if you get the skirt 
 stretched a bit, that will remedy it. You want sleeves, 
 too, to make her a lady. Then set a tall, tortoise- 
 shell comb upon her crown, with a spread of lace over 
 it, hanging down below the shoulders, the mantilla ; 
 and 3'ou'll make as good an Andalusian of her as is 
 Inez herself." 
 
 "By Jove, you're right! it can be done. The bit 
 added to the skirt will look like a flounced border. 
 The Spanish ladies have such on their dresses. I've 
 seen them. And a fan — they have that too. She 
 must have one." 
 
 " By all means give her a fan ; and, as you're 
 doubtful about the likeness, let it be done so as to 
 cover her face — at least, the lower half of it : that 
 will be just as they carry it. You can hide that nose, 
 which is a trifle too snub for the Andalusian. The 
 eyes appear good enough." 
 
 44 The Chilena had splendid eyes." 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. ti69 
 
 <; Of course, or she wouldn't have her portrait there. 
 But how did your artist know that? Has he ever seen 
 the original ?" 
 
 "No, I described her to him; and he's acquainted 
 with the costume the Chilian girls wear. He's seen 
 plenty of such. I told him to make the face a nice 
 oval, vs ith a small mouth, and pretty pouting lips; 
 then to give her great big eyes. You see, he's ione 
 all that." 
 
 " He has certainly." 
 
 "About the feet? They'll do, won't they? They're 
 small enough, I should say." 
 
 " Quite small enough ; and those ankles are perfec 
 tion. They ought to satisfy your Andalusian — almost 
 flatter her." 
 
 "Flatter her! I should think not. They might 
 your Biscayan, with her big feet, but not Inez, who's 
 got the tiniest little understandings I ever saw on a 
 woman — tall as she is." 
 
 " Stuff! " scornfully retorts Crozier : " that's a grand 
 mistake people make about small feet. It's not the 
 size, but the shape, that's to be admired. They should 
 be in proportion to the rest of the body ; otherwise, 
 they're a monstrosity, as among the Chinese for in- 
 stance. And as for small feet in men, about which the 
 French pride and pinch themselves, why, every tailor's 
 got that." 
 
 " Ha, ha, ha ! " laughs the young Welshman. " A 
 treatise on orthopedia, or whatever it's tailed. Well, 
 I shall let the Chileha's feet stand, with the ankles 
 too, and get Grummet to add on the rest." 
 
 ' ' What if your Chileiia should chance to set eyes on 
 the improved portrait? Remember, we're to call at 
 Valparaiso ! " 
 
 23* 
 
270 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 " I never thought of that." 
 
 " If you should meet her, 3'ou'll do well to keep 
 your shirt- sleeves down, or } t ou maj^ get the picture 
 scratched, } T our cheeks along with it." 
 
 " Bah ! there's no danger of that. I don't expect 
 ever to see that girl again — don't intend to. It 
 wouldn't be fair, after giving that engagement-ring to 
 Inez. If we do put into Valparaiso, I'll stay aboard 
 all the time the frigate's in port. That will insure 
 against any " — 
 
 "Landho!" 
 
 Their dialogue is interrupted. The lookout on the 
 masthead has sighted Mauna-Loa. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 A CREW THAT MEANS MUTINY. 
 
 A SHIP sailing clown the Pacific, on the line of 
 longitude 125° W. Technically speakiDg, not a 
 $7iip, but a bark, as may be told b}' her mizzen-sails, 
 <?et fore and aft. 
 
 Of all craft encountered on the ocean, there is none 
 so symmetrically beautiful as the bark. Just as the 
 name looks well on the page of poetr} 7 and romance, 
 so is the reality itself on the surface of the sea. The 
 sight is simply perfection. And about the vessel in 
 question another graceful peculiarity is observable : her 
 masts are of the special kind called x>olacca, — in one 
 piece from step to truck. 
 
 Such vessels are comm <n enough in the Medi terra 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 271 
 
 nean, and not rare in Spanish American ports. They 
 may be seen at Monte Video, Buenos A}Tes, and Val 
 paraiso, to which last this bark belongs ; for she ia 
 Chilian built ; her tall, tapering masts made of trees 
 from the ancient forests of Araucania. Painted upon 
 the stern is the name, "El Condor;" for she is tho 
 craft commanded b} r Capt. Antonio Lantanas. This 
 may seem strange. In the harbor of San Francisco, 
 the "Condor" was a ship. How can she now be a 
 bark? The answer is easy, as has been the transfor- 
 mation ; and a word will explain it. For the working 
 of her sails, a bark requires fewer hands than a ship. 
 Finding himself with an incomplete crew, Capt. Lan- 
 tanas resorted to a stratagem common in such cases, 
 and converted his vessel accordingly. The conversion 
 was effected on the day before leaving San Francisco ; 
 so that the "Condor," entering the Golden Gate a 
 ship, stood out of it a bark. As this, she is now on 
 the ocean, sailing southward along the line of longi- 
 tude 125° W. 
 
 On the usual track taken by sailing-vessels, between 
 Upper California and the Isthmus, she has westered, 
 to • get well clear of the coast, and catch the regular 
 winds, that, centuries ago, wafted the spice-laden Span- 
 ish galleons from the Philippines to Acapulco. A 
 steamer would hug the shore, keeping the brown, bar- 
 ren mountains of Lower California in view. Instead, 
 the "Condor" has sheered wide from the land, and, 
 in all probability, will not again sight it till she begins 
 to bear up for the Ba}- of Panama. 
 
 It is the middle watch of the night, the first after 
 leaving San Francisco. Eight bells have sounded ; and 
 the chief mate is in charge, the second having turned 
 in, along with the division of crew allotted to bira. The 
 
272 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 sea is tranquil, the breeze light, blowing from the 
 desired quarter ; so that there is nothing to call for any 
 unusual vigilance. True, the night is dark, but with- 
 out portent of storm. It is, as Harry Blew knous 
 only a tb <k rain-cloud, such as often shadows this par' 
 of the Pacific. Bat the darkness need not be dreaded. 
 They are in too low a latitude to encounter icebergs ; 
 and upon the wide waters of the South Sea there is not 
 much danger of collision with ships. Notwithstand- 
 ing these reasons for feeling secure, the chief officer 
 of the " Condor" paces her decks with a brow clouded 
 as the sky over his head ; while the glance of his eye 
 betrays anxiety of no ordinary kind. It cannot be from 
 any apprehension about the weather. He does not 
 regard the sky, nor the sea, nor the sails : on the eou- 
 irar} T , he moves about, not with bold, manlike step, as 
 one having command of the vessel, but stealthily, now 
 and then stopping, and standing in crouched attitude, 
 within the deeper shadow thrown upon her decks by 
 masts, bulwarks, and boats. He seems less to occup) 
 himself about the ropes, spars, and sails, than the be- 
 havior of those who work them ; not while they are 
 working them, either, but more when the}' are straying 
 idly along the gangways, or clustered in some corner, 
 and conversing. In short, he appears to be playing 
 spy on them. For this he has his reasons, and they 
 are good ones. Before leaving San Francisco, he dis- 
 covered the incapacity of the crew, so hastily get 
 together ; a bad lot, he could see at first sight, — rough, 
 -ibald, and drunken. In all, there are eleven of them, 
 the second mate included ; the last, as already stated, 
 a Spaniard, by name Padilla. There are three others 
 of this same race, — Spaniards, or Spanish Americans, 
 — Gil Gomez, Jose Hernandez, and Jacinto Velarde; 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 27C 
 
 two Englishmen, Jack Striker and Bill Davis ; a French- 
 man, by name La Crosse ; a Dutchman, and a Dane ; 
 the remaining two being men whose nationality is diffi- 
 cult to determine, and scarce known to themselves, 
 such as may be met on almost every ship that sails the 
 sea. 
 
 The chief officer of the " Condor," accustomed to a 
 man-o'-war, with its rigid discipline, is already- dis- 
 gusted with what is going on aboard the merchantman. 
 He has been so before leaving San Francisco, having, 
 also, some anxiety about the navigation of the vessel. 
 With a crew so incapable, he anticipated difficult}', if 
 not danger ; but, now that he is out upon the open 
 oceau, he is sure of the first, and fully apprehensive 
 of the last ; for, in less than a single da}^'s sailing, he 
 has discovered that the crew, besides counting short, is 
 otherwise untrustwortlrv. Several of the men are not 
 sailors at all, but longshore-men ; one or two of them 
 " land-lubbers," who never laid hand upon a ship's 
 rope before clutching those of the " Condor." With 
 >uch, what chance will there be for working the ship 
 in a storca? 
 
 But there is a danger he dreads far more than the 
 mismanagement of her ropes and sails, — insubordina- 
 tion. Even thus early it has shown itself among the 
 men, and may at any moment break out into open mu- 
 tiny. All the more likely from the character of Capt. 
 Lantanas, with whicji he has become well acquainted. 
 The Chilian skipper is an easy-going man, given to 
 reading books of natural histoiy, and collecting curios- 
 ities, as evinced by his brace of Bornean apes, and 
 other specimens picked up during his trading-trip to 
 the Indian Archipelago, — a man in every way amiable, 
 but just on this account the most unfitted to control a 
 
274 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 crew such as that he has shipped for the voyage to Val- 
 paraiso. Absorbed in his studies, he takes little notice 
 of 'Jiem, leaving them in the hands, and to the control, 
 of his piloto, Harry Blew. But Harry, though a typi- 
 cal British sailor, is not one of the happy-go-lueky 
 kind. He has been intrusted with something more 
 than the navigation of the Chilian ship, — with the 
 charge of two fair ladies in her cabin ; and, although 
 these have not yet shown themselves on deck, he know3 
 they are safe, and well waited on by the black cook, 
 who is also steward, and who, under his rough sable 
 skin, has a kindly, gentle heart. It is when thinking 
 of his cabin-passengers, that the "Condor's" first 
 officer feels apprehensive, and then not from the inca- 
 pacity of her sailors, but their bold, indeed almost, 
 insolent behavior. Their having shown something of 
 this at first might have been excusable, or, at all events, 
 capable of explanation : they had not yet sobered 
 down. Fresh from the streets of San Francisco, so 
 lawless and licentious, it could not be expected. But 
 most of them have been now some da}'s aboard, no 
 drink allowed them save the regular ration, with plenty 
 of every thing else. Kind treatment from captain and 
 mate, and still they show scowling and discontented, as 
 if the slightest slur, an angry word, even a look, would 
 make mutinj^ among them. ' ' What can it mean ? What 
 do the men want?" 
 
 A score of times has Harry Blew thus interrogate i 
 himself, without receiving satisfactory answer. It is to 
 obtain this he is now gliding silently about the " Con- 
 dor's " decks, and here and there concealing himself 
 in shadow, in the hope he may overhear some speech 
 that will give him a clew to the conspiracy, if con- 
 spiracy it be. And in this bore he is not deceived or 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA 275 
 
 disappointed, but successful even be}ond his mos» 
 sanguine expectations ; for he at length gets the clew, 
 Dot only to the insubordination of the crew, but all else 
 that has been puzzling him. And a strange problem 
 it is, its solution positively appalling. He gets it while 
 standing under a piece of sail-cloth, spread fr>m the 
 rail to the top of the round-house, rigged up hy the 
 carpenter as a sun-screen while doing sane work dur- 
 ing the heat of the day, and so left. The sky being 
 now starless and pitch-black, with this additional ob- 
 struction to light, Harry Blew stands in obscurity im- 
 penetrable to the eye of man. One passing so close as 
 almost to touch could not possibly see him. 
 
 Nor is he seen by two men, who, like himself, saun- 
 tering about, have come to a stop under the spread can- 
 vas. Unlike him, however, they are not silent, but 
 engaged in conversation, in a low tone, still loud 
 enough for him to hear them, — every word said. And 
 to every one he listens with interest so engrossing, that 
 his breath is well-nigh suspended. 
 
 He understands what is said, all the easier from 
 their talk being carried on in English, — his own tongue ; 
 for they who converse are Jack Striker and Bill Davis. 
 And, long before their dialogue comes to an end, he has 
 not only obtained intelligence of what has hitherto per- 
 plexed him, but gets a glimpse of something beyond, — 
 that which sets his hair on end, and causes the blood to 
 curdle in his veins. 
 
276 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 TWO "SYDNEY DUCKS." 
 
 JACK STRIKER and Bill Davis are two " Sydne5 
 Ducks," who have seen service in the chain-gangs 
 of Australia. They have also served as sailors, this 
 being their original calling. But since a certain voy- 
 age to the Swan River settlement, — in which they 
 were but passengers, sent out at the expense of II. B. 
 Majesty's government, — the}' have had aversion to 
 the sea, and only take to it intermittently, when under 
 the necessity of working passage from port to port for 
 other purposes. Escaping from a colonization forced 
 upon tbem, and quite uncongenial, they had thus made 
 their wa} T into California, and after a trip up the 
 Sacramento, and a spell at gold-seeking, with but in- 
 different success, had returned to San Francisco ; in 
 the Queen Cit}- of the Pacific finding ways of life 
 they liked better than the hard labor of pick, pan, and 
 cradle. Loafering among its low sailor-haunts, they 
 encountered a pleasant surprise, by meeting a man who 
 offered them five thousand dollars each to ship in a 
 merchant-vessel, for the " short trip " to Panama. A 
 wage so disproportion ed to the service asked for, of 
 course required some explanation, which the princely 
 contractor gave, after having secured their confidence. 
 It proved satisfactory to the Sydney Ducks, who, 
 without further questioning, entered into the contract. 
 The result was their getting conducted aboard the 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 277 
 
 " Condor,' ' she being the vessel bound for the port 
 of Panama. 
 
 He who had given them this handsome engage:! enl 
 was not the owner of the ship, no more was he her 
 captain or supercargo, but a gentleman representing 
 himself authorized to accept their services for a some- 
 what different purpose than the mere working of her 
 sails, and who promised to pay them in a peculiar 
 manner, — under certain contingencies, even more than 
 the sum stipulated, notwithstanding its magnificence. 
 The strange conditions were partially made known to 
 them before setting foot on the ship ; and though an 
 honest sailor would have scornfully rejected them, 
 even in the face of such tempting reward, Jack Striker 
 and Bill Davis accepted them without scruple or 
 cavil ; for they are not honest sailors, but ex-con- 
 victs, criminals still unreformed, and capable of any 
 misdeed, — piiwry, or murder, — if only money can be 
 made thereby. 
 
 Since coming aboard the " Condor," and mixing 
 with others of her crew, the} r have had additional in- 
 sight into the character of their contract, and the 
 services required of them. The}' find that severa 
 other men have been engaged in a somewhat similar 
 wa}-, and at a like bounteous wage ; for a while won- 
 dering at it, till after a mutual comparison of notes, 
 and putting together their respective scraps of intelli- 
 gence, with surmises added, they arrive at a pretty 
 accurate understanding of how the land lies, and why 
 their entre-preneur — who is no other than the second 
 mate, Padilla — has been so liberal. 
 
 Striker, who has seen more of the world, and is the 
 elder of the two Sydney Ducks, has been the first to 
 obtain this added information ; and it is for the purpose 
 
 24 
 
278 » THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 of communicating it to his old chum of the chain-gang> 
 he has asked the latter to step aside with him. And, 
 chancing to be cast together in the middle watch, an 
 opportunity offers, which the older convict has all that 
 day been looking out for. 
 
 Davis, of more talkative habit, is the first to break 
 silence, which he does on the instant of their coming 
 under the awning. 
 
 "Well, old pal! What d'ye think of our present 
 employ? Better than breakin' stone for them Swan 
 River roads, with twenty pound of iron chain clinkin' 
 at a fellow's feet. An't it?" 
 
 "Better'n that, yes, but not's good as it might 
 be." 
 
 " Tut, man, 3 T ou're alwaj's grumblin'. Five thou- 
 sand dollars for a trip that isn't like to run up to a 
 month, not more than a fortnight or three weeks I 
 should say ! If that don't content 3-ou, I'd like to 
 know what would." 
 
 " Well, mate, I'll tell 'ee what wud. Thirty thou- 
 sand for the trip. An' Jack Striker an't like to be 
 saterfied wi' any thin' short o' that sum." 
 
 ' ; You' re joking, Jack ? ' ' 
 
 " No, I an't, Bill. As you knows, I'm not o' the 
 jokin' sort, an' now mean what I sa} T , sartin as I ever 
 meant airy thin' in my life. Both me an' 3'ou oughter 
 get thirty thousand apiece o' this yellow stuff, — that 
 at the weriy leest." 
 
 " Why, there wouldn't be enough to go round the 
 lot that's in." 
 
 " Yes, thar wud, an' will. Old as I im, I hain't yit 
 quite lost hearin'. My yeers are as sharp as they iver 
 wor, an' jist as reliable. Larst night I heerd a whisper 
 pass atween Padilla an' another o' them Spanish chaps, 
 that's put me up to some^hink." 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 279 
 
 1 * What did you hear ? ' ' 
 
 " That the swag' 11 tot up to the total o' three hun 
 dred thousand dollars." 
 
 " The dense it will ! Why, they said it wasn't half 
 that much ! Paclilla himself told me so." 
 
 " No matter what he's told you. I tell ye now it's 
 all o' the six figures I've sayed. In coorse it's their 
 interest to make it out small as they possibly can, 
 seein' as our share's to be a purcentage. I know 
 better now, an', knowin', it, an't agoin' to stan' none 
 o' theer nonsense. Neyther shud you, Bill. We 
 both o' us are 'bout to risk the same as any o' the 
 tothers." 
 
 " That's true enough." 
 
 " In coorse it is ! An', bein' so, we oughter share 
 same as them ; can, an' will, if we stick well thegither. 
 It's jest as eezy one way as tother." 
 
 " There's something in what }*ou say, mate." 
 
 " Theer' s every thin' in it, an' nothin' more than 
 our rights. As I've sa} r ed, we all risk the same, — an' 
 that's gettin' our necks stretched. For, if we make a 
 mucker o* the job, it'll be a hangin' matter, sure. 
 For I dar say theer' s got to be blood spilt afore it's 
 finished." 
 
 "What would you advise our doing? You know, 
 Jack, I'll stand b}- you, whatever you go in for." 
 
 44 Well, I want it to be a fair divide all round ; de- 
 tarmined it shall be. Why shud the four Spanish fellas 
 get a dollar moren us others. As I've obsarved, twoo' 
 them — Gomez an' Hernandez — have set theer eyes on 
 the weemen folks. It's eezy to see that's part o' theer 
 game. Beside, I heerd them talkin' o't. Gomez be 
 arter the light girl ; an' Hernandez, the dark un. Well, 
 they may do as they like, for all I care. But that are 
 
280 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 all the more reezun why they onghtent be so greedy 
 'bout the shinin' stuff. As for Mister Gomez, it's 
 plain he's the head man o' the lot ; an' the second 
 mate, who engaged us, is only like the others, an* 
 'pears to be controlled by him. 'Twar 'tween them 
 two I overheerd the confab ; Gomez tellin' Padilla 
 that the dust lyin' snug in the cabin-lockers was full 
 valley for three hunderd thousan'. An', as theer's 
 eleven o' us to share, that 'ud be nigh on thirty 
 thousan' apiece, if my 'rithmetic an't out o' reckinin'. 
 Bill Davis, I say, we oughter stan' up for our rights." 
 
 u Certainty we should. But there'll be difficulty in 
 getting them, I fear." 
 
 " Not a bit, not a morsel, — if we stick out for 'em. 
 The four Spanyards means to go snacks 'mong them- 
 selves. But theer be seven o' us outsiders ; an' , when 
 I tell the others what I've told you, they'll be all on 
 our side — if they an't the silliest o' fools." 
 
 "They won't be that, I take it: a difference of 
 twenty thousand dollars, or so, in their favor, will make 
 them sensible enough. But what's to be the upshot, 
 or, as they call it in the theeatre play-bills, what's the 
 programme? " 
 
 " Well, mate, so far as I've been put up to't, we're 
 to run on till we get clown the coast, somewheer near the 
 Issmus o' Pan} T ma. Theer we'll sight land ; an', soon's 
 we do, the ship's to be scuttled, we first securin' the 
 swag, an' takin' it ashore in one o' the boats. We're 
 to land on some part o' the coast that's known to Go- 
 mez, he sa}-s. Then we're to make for some town, 
 when we've got things straight for puttin' in appear- 
 ance in a explainable way. Otherwaj s, we might get 
 pulled up ; an' all our trouble 'ud be for nowt, worse, — 
 every man jack on us would have a good chance to 
 swine; for't. " 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 281 
 
 " And the young ladies? " 
 
 " They're to go along wi' Gomez an' Hernandez 
 How they mean to manage it, Jack Striker can't tell 
 ye. They'll be a trouble, no doubt, as always is wi' 
 weemen; an' it be a pity we're 'hampered wi' 'em — 
 moren that, it's reg'lar dangersome. They may get 
 the hul kit o' us into a scrape. Howsever, we'll hev to 
 take our chances, since theer's no help for it. The two 
 chaps 'pear to be reg'lar struck with 'em. "Well, let 
 'em carry off the gurls, an' welcome. As I've saved, 
 thet oughter make 'em less objectin' to a fair divide o' 
 the dust." 
 
 " What's to be done with the others, — the old 
 Spaniard and skipper, with the black cook and first 
 mate ? ' ' 
 
 " They're to go down wi' the ship. The intenshuu 
 is, to knock all o' 'em on the head soon's we come in 
 sight o' land." 
 
 " Well, Jack, for the first three I don't care a brass 
 farthing. They're foreigners and blacks, therefore 
 nothing to us. But, as Blew chances to be a country- 
 man of ours, I'd rather it didn't go so hard with 
 him." 
 
 "Balderdash, Bill Davis ! What have you or me to 
 do wi' feelins o' that sort? Countryman, indeed ! A 
 fine country, as starves ten millions o' the like o' us 
 two, an', if we try to take what by nateral right's our 
 own, sends us out o' it wi' handcuffs round our wrists, 
 an' iron jewelry on our ankles ! All stuff an' psalni- 
 singin' that 'bout one's own country, an' fella-country- 
 men ! If we let him off, we might meet him somewhere 
 when we an't a-wantin' to. He'll have to be served 
 same as the tother three. There be no help for't, if 
 we don't want to have the Ik nip roun' our thrapples." 
 
 24* 
 
28fc THE FLAG OF DISTEESS. 
 
 " I suppose 3 r ou're right, Striker ; though it does 
 seem a pity too. But what reason have the Spaniards 
 for keepin' the thing back ? Why should they wait till 
 we get down near Panama? As the yellow stuff's lyin 
 ready, sure it might be grabbed at once, an' then we'd 
 have more time to talk of how it's to be divided? 
 What's the difficulty about our taking it now? " 
 
 " 'Tan't the takin' o't. That'll be eezy work ; an', 
 when the time comes, we'll have it all our own way. 
 We could toss the four overboard in the skippin' o' a 
 flea. But then how's the ship to be navvygated without 
 the skipper an' first mate? " 
 
 " Surely we can do without them? " 
 
 " That's jest what we can't. O' all" our crew, 
 theer's only them two as hev the knowledge o' charts 
 an' chronometers, an' the like ; for him as is actin' 
 second confesses he don't know nothin' 'bout sich: 
 tharfor, though we're in a good soun' craft, without 
 the skipper, or Blew, we'd be most as good as helpless. 
 We're now on the biggest o' all oceans, an', if she 
 stood on the wrong tack, we might never set eyes on 
 land, or only to be cast away on some clangersome 
 shore — or, what 'ud be bad as eyther, get overhauled 
 by some man-o'-war, an' not able to gie account o' 
 ourselves. Theer's the diffyculty, don't 'ee see, Bill? 
 So the Spanyards hev agreed to let things alone till 
 we've ran down nigh Pan} T ma. Theer Gomez says 
 theer be a long streetch o' uninhabited coast, when 
 we'll be safe goin' ashore in the night." 
 
 44 Well, I suppose that'll be the best way, after all, 
 If a man has the mone}*, it don't make much difference 
 where he sets foot on shore; an' no doubt we'll find 
 sport doTfn at Panyma good as anywhere else." 
 
 " Theer ye be right, Bill. When a cove's flush, 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 28S 
 
 there's pleasurin' everywhere. Gold's the only thing 
 as gives it." 
 
 " With the prospect of such big plunder, we can 
 afford to be patient," says Davis resignedly. 
 
 " I an't agoin' to be patient for the paltry five thou 
 Band they promised. No, Bill ! neyther must you. 
 We've equal rights wi' the rest ; an' we must stick out 
 for 'em." 
 
 " Soon as you say the word, Jack, I'm at 3*our back. 
 So'll all the others, who' re in the same boat with our- 
 selves." 
 
 " They oughter, an' belike will ; tho' theer's a weak- 
 witted fool or two as may take talkin' into it. I means 
 to go at 'em at once, soon's I've finished my trick at 
 the wheel, the which' 11 soon be on. Ay! theer's the 
 bell now : I must go aft. When I come off, Bill, be 
 you up by the night-heads, an' have that Dutch chap 
 as is in our watch 'long wi' ye, an' also the Dane. 
 They're the likeliest to go in wi' us at once, an' I'll 
 first broach it to them." 
 
 " All right, old pal ! I'll be there." 
 
 The two plotters step out from under the awning ; 
 Striker turning aft to take his "trick" at the wheel, 
 the other sauntering off in the direction of the fore- 
 castle. 
 
 Harry Blew stands aghast, his hair on end, the 
 blood coursing chill through his veins. No w r onder, 
 after listening to such a revelation ! A plot diabolical, 
 a scheme of atrocit}^ unparalleled, comprising three 
 horrible crimes, — robbeiy, the abduction of women, 
 and the murder of men, among these himself. 
 
 Now knows he the cause of the czew's insubordina- 
 tion, too clearly comprehends it —three hundred 
 thousand dollars of gold-dust stowed in the cabin* 
 
2^1 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 lockers. "News to him ; for Capt. Lantanas had not 
 made him acquainted with the fact, the treasure having 
 been shipped before his coming aboard, in fact, on that 
 same night when he went after Silvestre. At the very 
 time he was knocking at the ship-agent's office-door, 
 Don Thomas, with some trust}' watermen, were engager 1 
 in getting it aboard the Chilian ship. 
 
 An unfortunate arrangement, after all, and now too 
 certain of ending disastrousl}', not 011I3' for Don Gre- 
 gorio, but those dear to him, with others less interested, 
 yet linked to his fate. Though the ex-man-of-war Is- 
 mail is neither doubtful nor incredulous of what he has 
 just heard, it is some time before his mind can grasp 
 all the details. So filled is he with astonishment, it is 
 natural his thoughts should be confused, and himself 
 excited. But soon he reflects calmly, and, revolving 
 every thing over, perceives clearly enough what are the 
 crimes to be committed, with the motives for commit- 
 ting them. There can be no ambiguity about the 
 nature of the nefarious conspirac}'. It has all been 
 hatched and pre-arranged on shore ; and the scoundrels 
 have come aboard specially for its execution. The 
 four Spaniards, or Californians as he believes them to 
 be, must have had knowledge of the treasure being 
 shipped, and, in their plan to appropriate it, have 
 engaged the others to assist them. Striker's tall?: has 
 told this, while revealing also the still more fiendish 
 designs of abduction and murder. 
 
 The prospect is appalling ; and, as he reflects upon 
 it, Harry Blew feels his heart sink within him, strong 
 though that heart be. For a dread fate is impending 
 over himself, as well as those he has promised to pro- 
 tect. 
 
 How is it to be averted ? How is he to save them ? 
 How save himself? 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 285 
 
 These questions come crowding together, anci repeat 
 'themselves over and over, but without suggesting 
 answer. He cannot think of one that is satisfactory : 
 he sees no chance of escape. The crew arc all in the 
 plot, every man of them, — either as principals or 
 engaged assistants. The conversation of the two con- 
 victs has shown this. The second mate same as the 
 rest, which to him, Harry Blew, causes no surprise. 
 He Lid already made up his mind about Padilla, ob- 
 serving his sjinpathy with those who had begun to 
 show insubordination. He had also noticed, that, in 
 whatever was up among them, Gil Gomez was the 
 directing spirit, Velarde next in influence ; both domi- 
 nating Padilla, notwithstanding his superior authority 
 as one of the ship's officers ; while Hernandez seemed 
 to be controlled by all three. The last, Harry Blew 
 has discovered to be a landsman, with no sea-experi- 
 ence whatever ; when found out, excusing himself on 
 the plea that he wished to work his passage to Panama. 
 The position of the other seven is understood by what 
 Striker said. All are in the scheme of pillage and 
 murder, though not to be equall}- rewarded. 
 
 Bringing them one after another before his mind ; 
 recalling his experience of them, which, though short, 
 has given him some knowledge of their character, 
 the " Condor's " first officer cannot think of one likely 
 to take sides with him. They are all men of iniquity ; 
 and, in defending the innocent, he would have to stand 
 alone ; for it would amount to almost that, with no 
 other help than Capt. Lantanas, Don Gregorio, and 
 the cook, — the first, a slight slender man, with just 
 strength enough to handle a telescope ; the second, 
 aged, ami something of an invalid ; the third, foi 
 fighting-purposes, scarce worth thinking of. His fidel- 
 
286 Ti£E FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 ity could be depended upon to the death ; but he is 
 also an oldish man, and would count for little in a 
 conflict with such desperadoes as those who design 
 making themselves masters of the ship. 
 
 All these points present themselves to the mind of 
 the first mate clearly, impressively. A thought of 
 tolling Capt. Lantanas what he has discovered, and 
 which came naturally, he no longer entertains. The 
 trusting Chilian skipper would scarce give credit to 
 such an atrocious scheme ; and if he did, in all like- 
 lihood it would result in his taking some rash step 
 that would but quicken their action, and bring sooner 
 on the fatal catastrophe. No : 'twill never do to make 
 him acquainted with the danger, great as it is. Nor 
 yet should Don Gregorio know of it. The terrible 
 secret must be kept from both, and carefully. Either 
 of them aware of it, and in an hour after all might be 
 over, — the tragedy enacted, and its victims consigned 
 to the sea, — himself, Harry Blew, being one of them. 
 
 Still crouching under the sail, he trembles, as he 
 conjures up the picture of that fearful fate that seems 
 so certainty before him. Tn the midst of the open 
 ocean, or close to land, the scene will be all the same, — 
 the girls seized ; the captain, Don Gregorio, the cook, 
 and himself, shot down, or poniarded ; after that, the 
 gold dragged out of the lockers, the vessel scuttled 
 and sunk, a boat alone left to carry the pirates ashore, 
 with their spoils and captives. Contemplating such a 
 scene, even only in imagination, it is not strange that 
 the " Condor's " first officer feels a shivering through- 
 out his frame. He feels it in eveiy fibre. And reflec- 
 tion fails to give relief, since it suggests to him no 
 plan for saving himself. On the contrary, the more he 
 dwells on it, the more he sees the danger, — sees it id 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 287 
 
 f.11 its stark naked reality. Against such odds a con- 
 flict would be hopeless. It could only end in death to 
 all who have been singled out, himself perhaps the 
 first. 
 
 For a time he stands in silent cogitation, with de- 
 spair almost paralyzing his heart. He is unable to 
 'hink steadily or clearly. Doubtful, unfeasible schemes 
 shape themselves in his mind, or idle thoughts flit 
 across his brain, all the while wild emotions coursing 
 through his soul. 
 
 At length, and after prolonged reflection, he makes 
 a resolve. As his face is in shadow, its expression 
 cannot be seen ; but, judging by the words that are 
 muttered by his lips, it is one that should be unworthy 
 of a British sailor, in short, that of a traitor. For hig 
 soliloqu} T seems to show that he has yielded to craven 
 fear, intends surrendering up the sacred trust reposed 
 in him, and along with it his honor. 
 
 The words are, — 
 
 " There's no chance for that, nor yet for the savhr 
 of my >wn life, except by castin' my lot in along wf 
 them"! 1 11 do it — I'll do" it ! " 
 
288 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS, 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVHI. 
 
 PLOT UPON PLOT. 
 
 THE u Condor " is sailing -with a light breeze some 
 points abaft the beam. Jack Striker is at the 
 helm ; and, as the sea is smooth, he finds it eas}' steer- 
 ing, having little to do but keep her stead}' by taking 
 an occasional squint at the compass-card. The moon, 
 which has just risen, shining in his face, shows it to 
 be that of a man over fifty, with the felon in its every 
 line and lineament. It is beardless, pock-pitted, with 
 thick shapeless lips, broad hanging jowls, nosirils 
 agape, and nose flattened like the snout of a bull-dog. 
 Eyes green, both bleary, one of them bloodshot ; for 
 all, eyes that by his own boast can " see into a mill- 
 stone as far as the man who picks it." He has not 
 been many minutes at his post when he sees some one 
 approaching from the waist of the ship, — a man whom 
 he makes out to be the first mate. 
 
 " Comin' to con mc," growls the ex-convict. " Don't 
 want any o' his connin', not I. Jack Striker can keep 
 s ship on her course well's him, or air^ other 'board o* 
 this craft." 
 
 He is on the starboard side of the wheel, while the 
 mate approaches along the port gangway, and, after 
 springing up to the poop-deck, stops opposite the 
 steersman. 
 
 "Well, Striker," he saj-s ; " not much trouble with 
 her to-night. She's goin' free too, with the wind in 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 289 
 
 the right quarter. We ought to be makin' good nine 
 knots?" 
 
 " All o' that, I daresay, sir," rejoins Striker, mol- 
 lified by the affable manner in which the first officer 
 has addressed him. "The bark an't a bad unto go, 
 though she be a queeiy-rigged craft as ever I war 
 aboard on." 
 
 " You've set foot on a goodish many, I should say, 
 judgin' from the way ye handle a helm. I see 3*011 
 understan' steerin' a ship." 
 
 "I oughter, master," answers the helmsman, fur- 
 ther flattered by the compliment to his professional 
 skill. " Jack Striker's had a fair show o' schoolin' to 
 that bizness." 
 
 " Been a man-o'-war's-man, han't 3*011 ? " 
 
 "A3*, all o' that! An3 T as doubts it can see the 
 warrant on 1113* back, an' welcome to do so. Plent3 T o' 
 the cat's claws theer ; an' I don't care who knows it." 
 
 " Neyther need ye. Many a good sailor can show 
 the same. For myself, I han't had the cat; but I've 
 seed man-o'-war sarvice, an' got rough treatment too. 
 An' I've seed sarvice on ships man-o'-war' s men have 
 chased, likin' that sort a little better : I do." 
 
 -'Indeed I" exclaims the ex-convict, turning his 
 e3*es with increased interest on the man thus frankly 
 confessing himself. -'Smuggler? or ma3 r be slaver?" 
 
 " Little bit o' both. An', as 3*011 say 'bout the cat, 
 J don't care a toss-up who knows o't. It's been a 
 hardish world wi' me ; plent3* o' ups an' downs, the 
 downs ofener than the ups. Just now, things are 
 lookin' sort o' uppish. I've got 1113* berth here 'count 
 o' the scarcit3* o' hands in San Francisco, an' the luck 
 o' knowin' how to take sights, an' keep a log. Still 
 the pay an't much, considerin' the chances left behind 
 
 25 
 
200 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 1 daresay I'd 'a done a deal better by sta}™' in Cali« 
 forney, an' goin' on to them gold-diggin's up in the 
 
 mountains. " 
 
 " You han't been theer, han't ye? " 
 
 "No. Never went a cable's length a} T ont the town 
 o' San Francisco." 
 
 " Maybe jest as well ye didn't, Master Blew. Me 
 an' Bill Davis tried that dodge. We went all the waj 
 to the washin's on Feather River, but foun' no gold, 
 onty plenty o' hard work, wi' precious little to eat, an* 
 less in the wa}^ o' drink. Neyther o' us likin' the life, 
 we put back for the port." 
 
 For all his frankness in confessing to the cat-o-nine- 
 tails on board a war-ship, Striker says nothing about 
 a rope of a different kind he and his chum Davis were 
 very near getting around their necks on the banks of 
 that same Feather River, and from which the}' escaped 
 by a timely retreat upon San Francisco. 
 
 "Well," rejoins Blew in a tone of resignation; 
 " maybe I've did the wisest thing, after all, in not goin' 
 that way. I might 'a come back empty-handed, same 
 as 3'ourself an' Davis. Ye say liquor was scarce up 
 there? That would never 'a done for me. I must 
 have my reg'lar allowance, or — Well, no use sayin' 
 what, As an old man-o' -war's man, you can under- 
 stan' me, Striker. An' as the same, I suppose 30U 
 won't object to takin' a tot now? " 
 
 " Tv^o, for that matter," promptly responds Striker, 
 like all his kind, droutlry. 
 
 "Well, here's a drop o' rum, — the best Suita 
 Cruz. Help yourself! " 
 
 Harry Blew presents a black-jack bottle to the helms- 
 man, who, detaching one hand from the wheel, takes 
 hold of the bottle, and carries it to his lips. Afcei 
 
A STOEY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 291 
 
 keeping it there for a prolonged spell, he returns it tc 
 its owner, who, for the sake of sociability, takes a 
 drink himsdf. This done, the dialogue is renewed, 
 and progresses in even a more friendly way than before, 
 the Santa Cruz having opened the heart of the " Syd- 
 ney Duck" to a degree of familiarity; while, on hig 
 side, the mate, throwing aside all reserve, lets himself 
 down to a level with the foremastman. It ends in 
 their establishing a confidence, mutual and complete, 
 of that character known as " thickness between 
 thieves." Blew first strikes the chord that puts theii 
 spirits en rapport, by saying, — 
 
 "Ye tell me, Striker, that ye've had hard times an' 
 some severe punishment : so's had Harry Blew. An' 
 ye say 3-e don't care about that ; no more says he. 
 In that, we're both 'o us in the same boat ; an' now 
 we're in the same ship, — 3*011 a sailor afore the mast, I 
 first officer. But, for all the difference in our rank, we 
 can work thegether. An' there's a way we can both o' 
 us do better. Do you want me to tell it ye? " 
 
 "A3', a3% tell it! Jack Striker's ears are alius 
 open to hear how he can better his sittivation in life. 
 He's a listener.'* 
 
 "All right! I've observed you're a good hand at 
 the helm. Would 3-e be as good to go in for a job 
 that'll put a pile o' mone3 r in your pocket? " 
 
 "That depends, not on what sort o' a job, — I 
 don't mean that, — but what mone3 T , how much? " 
 
 "Puttin' it in gold, as much as 3-011 can cany; ay T , 
 enough to make 3-011 stagger under it." 
 
 "An' 3-011 ask if I'm good for a job like that? 
 Werry funny questyin thet be, 'specialty puttin' it to 
 olc Jack Striker. He's good for't, wi' the gaDowa 
 starin' liim full in the face. Darned if he an't! " 
 
292 THE FLAG OF DISTEESS. 
 
 " Well, I thought 3'ou wouldn't be the one to be 
 Lasket-faced 'bout it. It's a big thing I have on hand ; 
 an' there'll be a fortune for all who go in wi' me." 
 
 "Show Jack Striker the chance o' goin' in, an' he'll 
 show j'ou a man as knows no backin' out." 
 
 " Enough, shipmate. The chance is close to hand, 
 — aboard o' this ship. Below, in her cabin-lockers, 
 there's stowed somethin' like half a ton o' glitterin' 
 gold-dust. It belongs to the old Spaniard that's pas- 
 senger ; an' what's to hinder us to la} r hands on it: 
 If we can only get enough o' the crew to sa} r 3-es, 
 there needs be no difficulty. Them as won't '11 have to 
 stan' aside. Though, from what I see o' them, it's like 
 they'll all cut in. Divided square round, there'll be 
 between twenty an' thirty thousand dollars apiece 
 Does that tempt 3-e, Striker?" 
 
 " Rayther. Wi' thirty thousand dollars, I'd ne'er 
 do another stroke o' work." 
 
 "You needn't, then. You can have all o' that by 
 joinin' in, an' help in' me to bring round the rest. Do 
 you know an} T o' them you could sound — with safety, 
 I mean ? ' ' 
 
 "Two or three; one sartin, — my ole chum, Bill 
 Davis. He a an be trusted wi' a secret o' throat-cuttin', 
 let alone a trifle such as 3*ou speak o'. An' now, 
 Master Blew, since you've seed lit to confide in me 
 I'm agoin' tc gie ye a bit o' my confidence. It's but 
 fair atween two men as hev got to understan' one the 
 tother, I may's well tell ye that I knew all about the 
 stuff in the cabin-lockers. Me an* Davis war talkin* 
 o't jist afore I come to the wheel. You an't the only 
 one as hez set theer heart on hevin it. Them Spanish 
 chaps hez got it all arranged aneaclv, an' had afore 
 the}^ put fut 'board this heer bark. Thar's the four 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 293 
 
 on 'tin, as I take it, all standm' in equal; whiles th<3 
 rest o' the crew war only to get so much o' a fixed 
 sum." 
 
 " Striker, ye 'stonish me!" 
 
 " Well, I'm only tellin' ye what be true- I'm glad 
 you're agreeable to go in wi' us ; the which'll save 
 trouble, an' yer own life as well. For I may tell ye, 
 master, that they'd made up thai* miuds to send }e to 
 the bottom 'long wi' the skipper an' the ole Spaniard." 
 
 " That's a nice bit of news to hear, by Jove ! Well, 
 mate, I'm thankful to ye for communicatin' it. Lor ! 
 it's lucky for me we've this night chanced to get talkin' 
 thegether." 
 
 " Thar maybe luck in't all roun'. Bill an' me'd 
 made up our minds to stan' out for a equal divide o' 
 the dust, — like shares to i very man. Shud there be 
 an}* dispute 'bout that bein' fair, wi' you on our side, 
 we'll eezy settle it our way, spite o' them Spanyards. 
 If they refuse to agree, an' it come to tightin', then 
 Jack Striker's good for any two on 'em." 
 
 "An' Harry Blew for any other two. No fear but 
 we can fix that. How man}' do you think will be with 
 us?" 
 
 " Most all, I shud say, 'ceptin' the Spanyards them- 
 selves. It consarns the rest same's it do us. 'Tall 
 events, we're bound to ha' the majority." 
 
 "When do you propose we shud begin broachin' it 
 to them?" 
 
 " Straight away, if you say the word. I'll try some 
 o' 'em soon's I've went off from here. Thar be several 
 on the watch as'll be takin' a tot together 'fore we 
 turns in. No time better nor now." 
 
 " True : so at them at once, Striker. But mind ye, 
 mate : be cautious how ye talk to them, an' don't com- 
 
 25* 
 
294 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 mit ajther of us too far, till you've larat their tempor. 
 I'll meet ye on the first dog-watch to-morrow ; then you 
 can tell me how the land's likely to lie." 
 
 " All right! I'll see to't in the smooth way. Ton 
 can trust Jack Striker for that." 
 
 " Take another pull o' the Santa Cruz. If this tlip 
 prove prosperous in the way we're plannm' it, naytlier 
 you nor me'll need to go without the best o' good 
 liquor for the rest o' our lives." 
 
 Again Striker clutches at the proffered bottle, and 
 holds it to his head, this time till he has drained it 
 dry. Returned to him empt} r , Harry Blew tosses it 
 overboard. Then parting from the steersman, he com- 
 mences moving forward, as with the design to look 
 after other duties. As he steps out from under the 
 shadow of the spanker, the moon, gleaming athwart his 
 face, shows on it an expression which neither pencil 
 nor pen could depict. Difficult indeed to interpret it. 
 The most skilled physiognomist would be puzzled to 
 say whether it is the reproach of conscious guilt, or 
 innocence driven to desperation. 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 296 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 SHARE AND SHARE ALIKE. 
 
 IN the " Condor's forecastle. It is her second 
 night since leaving San Francisco, and the second 
 watch is on duty ; the men of the first having come 
 down from the deck. That on duty is Padilla's ; in 
 it Gomez, Hernandez, Velarde, and the two sailors 
 of nationality unknown. The off-watch consists of 
 Striker, Davis, the Frenchman who is called La Crosse, 
 with the Dutchman, and Dane. All five are in the 
 fore-peak ; the chief mate, as they suppose, having 
 retired to his cabin. 
 
 They are waiting till those on the watch not required 
 for deck-dut}^ come below. All of these have had 
 intimation they will be wanted in the forecastle, a sum- 
 mons that to most of the second watch seems mysteri- 
 ous. They obey it, notwithstanding ; and after a time 
 the two sailors come down, — the nondescripts without 
 name, one passing under the sobriquet of " Old Tarry ; " 
 1 he other having had bestowed upon him the equally 
 distinctive, but less hono.-able, appellation of "Slush." 
 Shortly after, the second mate, Padilla, makes his ap- 
 pearance, along with him Velarde. 
 
 "Thcer be two not yit among us," says Striker 
 "In coorse, one's ai t!ie wheel." 
 
 k ' Yes. Gomez is there," responds Padilla. 
 
 44 Where be Hernandez?" 
 
 k< I don't know. Likely along with h'm." 
 
THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 " Don't much matter," pats in Davis. " I daresay 
 we can settle the thing without either. You begin, 
 Jack, and tell Mr. Padilla and the rest what we've 
 been talking about.". 
 
 " 'Twon't take a very long time to tell it," responds 
 Striker. " Theer be no great need for waslin* words. 
 All I've got to sa} T are, that the swag in this ship shud 
 be eelcilhj divided.' ' 
 
 Padilla starts, Velarde doing the same. " What do 
 you mean?" asks the former, putting on an air of 
 surprised innocence. 
 
 " I means what I've sa3 r ed, — that the swag shud be 
 eekilly divided." 
 
 " And 3'et I don't understand 3*011." 
 
 "Yis, 3'e do! Come, master mate, 'tain't no use 
 shammin' ignorance, not wi' Jack Striker, 'tall events. 
 He be too old a bird to get cheated wi' chaff. If 3-0 
 want to throw dust into nty C3*es, it must be o' tho 
 sort that's stowed aft in the cabin. Now, d'3*e under- 
 stan' me?" 
 
 Padilla looks grave, so does Velarde. Old Tarry 
 and Slush show no sign of feeling ; both being already 
 apprised of the demand Striker intended to make, and 
 having given their promise to back it. 
 
 " Well," says the second mate, " 3*011 appear to be 
 talking of soire gold-dust; and I suppose 30U know 
 all about it?" 
 
 " That we do !" responds Striker. 
 
 •* Well, what then? " asks Padilla. 
 
 " Only what I've sa3*ed," rejoins the S3*dney Duck. 
 " If 3*oii weesh, I can say it over 'gain. That theer 
 yellow grit shud be measured out to the crew o' this 
 craft share an' share alike, even hands all roun,' with- 
 out respectin' o' persons. An ' it shell be so deevided 
 — shell, an' must." 
 
A. STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 297 
 
 " Yes/ indorses Davis, with like emphatic affiiimv 
 tion. " It shall, and it must ! " 
 
 " Pe gar, must it!" adds the Frenchman, followed 
 in the same strain b}' Stronsen the Dane, and Van 
 Houten the Dutchman, chorused by Tarry and Slush. 
 
 ;; It an't no use your stannin' out, masters," contin- 
 ues Striker, addressing himself to Padilla and Velarde. 
 " Ye see, the majority's again ye ; an' in all cases o* 
 the kind, wheresomever I've seed 'em, the majority 
 means the right." 
 
 " Certainly it means that ! " echo the others — all save 
 Padilla and Velarde, who remain silent and scowling. 
 
 1 ' Yis," continues Striker ; "an' theer be one who 
 an't present among us, as oughter have his share too." 
 
 "Whom are you speaking of? " demands Padilla. 
 
 " I needn't tell ye," responds Striker. " If I an't 
 mistook, that's him comin' down ; an' he can speak for 
 hisself." 
 
 At the words a footstep is heard upon the forecastle- 
 stair. A pair of legs is seen descending, after them 
 a body, the body of Harry Blew. 
 
 Padilla looks scared ; Velarde the same. Both 
 fancy their conspiracy discovered, their scheme blown, 
 and that Striker, with all that talk, has been only mis- 
 leading them. They are undeceived on hearing what 
 the mate has to say. Striker elicits it by repeating 
 the conversation that has passed. 
 
 Thus Harry Blew gives rejoinder: "I'm with ye, 
 shipmates, to the end — be that sweet or bitter. Striker 
 talks straight ; an' his seems the only fair way of set- 
 tlin' the question. The majority must decide. There's 
 two not here, an' they've got to be consulted. They're 
 both at the wheel. Therefore let's all go aft, an' talk 
 the thing there. There's no fear for our bein' inter* 
 
298 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 rupted. The skipper's asleep ; an' we've got the sLip 
 to ourselves." 
 
 So saying, Blew leads up the ladder, the rest start 
 mg from their seats, and crowding after. 
 
 Once on deck, they cluster around the forehatch, 
 and there stop ; the first mate having something to say 
 before going aft. The second does not take part in 
 this conference, but, stealing past unseen, glides on 
 towards the after-part of the ship. Soon the others 
 proceed in the same direction, in a straggled string, 
 which again contracts into a knot as they reach the 
 open quarter-deck, by the capstan, there again stop- 
 ping. And there, the moonlight, falling full upon 
 their faces, betra}-s the expression of men in mutiny, 
 but mutiny unopposed. On the quarter-deck no one 
 questions them ; for the traitorous first officer has spo- 
 ken truly, the captain is asleep. They have the ship 
 to themselves. 
 
 It is Gomez who is at the wheel, his " trick " having 
 commenced at the changing of watches. He is not 
 alone, but with Hernandez beside him. Neither is 
 yet aware of the strike that has taken place ; though 
 during the day they have heard some whisperings, and 
 are half expecting trouble with their subordinates. 
 
 Tac theme which engages them is altogether differ- 
 ent; beauty, not booty, being the subject of their 
 discourse, which is carried on in a low tone. It ia 
 Hernandez who first introduces it, asking, — 
 
 4 'About the girls? What are we to do wita them 
 after getting ashore? " 
 
 " Marry them, of course," promptly answers the 
 other. " That's what I mean doing with the beautiful 
 Dona Carmen. Don't 3*011 intend the same with Inez ? ,J 
 
 "Of course, if loan." 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 299 
 
 " Can ! There need be no difficulty about it, cama* 
 rado." 
 
 " I hope not ; though I think there will, and a good 
 dsal. There's certain to be some." 
 
 "In what way? " 
 
 " Suppose they don't give their consent? " 
 
 "A fig for their consent! The}' must consent. 
 Donl be letting that scare you. Whether they're 
 agreealle or not, we'll have a marriage-ceremon}', or 
 the form of one, all the same. I can fix that, or I'm 
 much mistaken about the place we're going to, and the 
 sort of men we shall meet. If the Padre Padierna be 
 yet alive, he'll many me to Carmen Montijo without 
 asking her an}* questions, or, if he did, caring what her 
 answers might be. And, if he's under ground, I've got 
 another string to my bow in the young cura Gonzaga, 
 who in my time had charge of souls in a pueblita^ 
 nearer the place where I hope we shall be able to make 
 shore. And, should neither of these my old acquaint- 
 ances turn up, there are no end of others who will be 
 willing to tie the knot that's to make 3-011 happj* for 
 life. I tell 3-011, hombre, 3'ou're steering straight 
 towards an earthl}' paradise : 3-ou'll find that in San- 
 tiago." 
 
 " I hope it ma}* be as 3-011 say." 
 
 " Yon ma3 r rest sure of it. Once in the old Vera- 
 gnan town, with these girls as our wives, and they no 
 longer able to question our. calling them so, we can 
 emer society without fear of showing our faces. And, 
 with this big bonanza at our backs, we may lead a 
 luxurious life there, or go anywhere else it pleases us. 
 As for returning to 3-0111* dear California, as 3-011 call it, 
 you won't care for that when 3-011' ve become Benedict." 
 
 " You've made up 3-ou're mind, then, that we marry 
 them?" 
 
800 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 "Of course I have, and for certain reasons > other* 
 wise I shouldn't so much care, now that the}''re in ou? 
 power, and we can dictate terras to them. You can do 
 as you please respecting marriage; though you lave 
 the same motive as myself for changing 3'our sehsnla 
 into a senora" 
 
 " What do you allude to? " 
 
 " You forget that both these damsels have large 
 properties in Spain, as worthy friend Martinez made 
 me aware not long since. The Doha Carmen will in- 
 herit handsomely at her father's death, which is much 
 the same as sa}ung now. I don't refer to his gold, but 
 the landed property he has elsewhere, — in Biscay, 
 which, please the Fates, I shall some da}' look up, and 
 take possession of. While the Doha Inez has no end 
 of acres in Andalusia, besides whole streets of fine 
 houses in Cadiz. To get all that, these girls must be 
 our wives ; otherwise we should have no claim to it, 
 nor be able to show our faces in the Peninsula." 
 
 " I've known all along about the Andalusian estates. 
 The old usurer told me, too ; said he'd advance mon- 
 ey on them, if he were sure of my marrying the lady. 
 But, if you believe me, it's not altogether the money 
 that's moving me in this whole affair. I'm madly 
 fond of the girl, — so fond, that, if she hadn't a claco 
 in the world, I would become her husband." 
 
 " Say, rather, her master, as I intend to be of Car- 
 men Montijo. Once we get ashore, I'll teach her sub- 
 mission. The ha'.ghty dame will learn what it is to be 
 a wife; and if not an obedient one, then, por Dios! 
 she shall have a divorce — after I've squeezed out of 
 her that Bisca3 T an estate. Then she can go free, if it 
 so please her. Mira! what's up yonder? " 
 
 The in'.errogatory comes from his observing a group 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA 301 
 
 of men assembled on the foredeck, alongside the hatch. 
 The sk\ T cloudless, with a full moon overhead, shows 
 it to be composed of nearly, if not all, the crew. The 
 light also displays them in earnest gesticulation ; while 
 their voices, borne aft, tell of some subject seriously 
 debated. 
 
 What can it be? The men of the first watch, long 
 since relieved, should be asleep in their bunks. Why 
 are they now on deck? This of itself surprises the 
 two at the wheel. And, while engaged in mitual inter- 
 rogation, they perceive the second mate coming aft, 
 as, also, that he makes approach in a hurried yet 
 stealthy manner. 
 
 " What's up? " asks Gomez. 
 
 "Trouble," answers Padilla. "A mutiny among 
 the men we engaged to assist us." 
 
 " On what grounds ? " 
 
 " They've got to know all about the gold-dust, even 
 the exact quantity there is of it." 
 
 " Indeed ! And what's their demand? " 
 
 " That we shall share it with them. They say they'll 
 have it so." 
 
 " The dense they do ! " 
 
 " The old ladrone, Striker, began it. But, what will 
 astonish you still more, the first mate knows all our 
 plans, and's agreed to go in along with us. He's at 
 the head of the mutineers, and insisting on the same 
 thing. They swear, if we don't divide equally, the 
 strongest will take what they can. I've stolen aft tc 
 ask 3'ou what we'd best do." 
 
 " They're determined, are the}'? " 
 
 " To the death — they say so." 
 
 " In that case," mutters Gomez, after a moment or 
 two spout in reflection, " I suppose we'll have to yield 
 
 25 
 
.502 THE FLAG OP DISTRESS. 
 
 to their demands. I see no help for it. Go back, 
 Padilla, and say something to pacify them. Maldital 
 this is an unexpected difficult}', ugly as sin." 
 
 Padilla is about to return to his discontented ship* 
 mates on the forward-deck, but is saved the journey, 
 seeing them come aft. Nor do they hesitate cO invade 
 the sacred precincts of the quarter ; for they have no 
 fear of being forbidden. Soon they mount up to the 
 poop-deck, and cluster around the wheel ; the whole 
 "Condor's" crew now present, mates as men, — all 
 save the captain and cook. And all take part in the 
 colloquy that succeeds, either by speech or gestures. 
 
 The debate is short, and the question in dispute soon 
 decided. Harry Blew, backed by the ex-convicts, talk? 
 with determination, confirming it by emphatic exclama- 
 tions. The others, with interests identical, stand by 
 the two chief speakers, backing them up with words and 
 cries of encouragement. 
 
 " Shipmates," sa^-s the first officer, " this gold we're 
 all after should be equally partitioned between us." 
 
 "Must be !" adds Striker with an oath. "Share 
 an' share alike. It's the only fair way, an' the only 
 one we'll gie in to." 
 
 " Stick to that, Striker ! " cries Davis : " we'll stand 
 by ye." 
 
 " Pe gar! certainement," indorses the Frenchman. 
 " Vat for no? Sacre bleu! vc vill. I am for les droits 
 do matelot, le vrai democratique. Vive le fair play ! " 
 
 Dane and Dutchman, with Tarry and Slush, speak io 
 the same strain. The scene is short as violent. The 
 Spaniards, perceiving themselves in a minority, and a 
 position that threatens unpleasant consequences, give 
 wa} r , and consent to an equal distribution of the antici- 
 pated spoil ; after which the men belonging to the off- 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA 303 
 
 ♦vafch retire to the forecastle, and there betake them- 
 selves to their bunks, while the others scatter about the 
 ship. 
 
 Gil Gomez remains at the wheel, his "trick" not 
 yet being over, Hernandez beside him. For a time 
 the two are silent, their brows shadowed with gloom. 
 I; :s not pleasant to lose some fifty thousand dollars 
 apiece ; and this the}' have as good as lost within the 
 last ten minutes. Still there is a reflection to soothe 
 them : they can think of other bright skies ahead. 
 
 Gomez first returning to speak of them, says, — 
 
 " Never mind, amigo! There will be mone}' enough 
 to serve our present purposes, all the same. And, for 
 the future, we can both build on a good sure foundatiou. , " 
 
 "On what?" 
 
 " On our ' castles in Spain.' " 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 "land ho ! " 
 
 THE voyage Carmen Montijo and Inez Alvarez are 
 now making is not their first. Both have been 
 at sea before, ■ — in the passage out from Spain. But 
 in Carmen's case that was long 3-ears ago ; while Inez* 
 absence from it has been too short to exempt her from 
 the mat de mer ; and both of them alike suffer from it. 
 Stricken down b} T it, the}' are for several days confined 
 to the cabin, most of the time to their state-room. 
 
 In their affliction, they have not been so badly at 
 tended. The old negro cook, acting also as steward, 
 
304 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 comes up to the occasion ; for lie has a tender heart 
 under his rough sable skin, and waits upon them with 
 delicate assiduity. And Capt. Lantanas is equally 
 assiduous in his attentions, placing most of his time 
 at their disposal, In due course the} T recover, and 
 after a day or two waiting for fine weather, venture 
 apon deck. 
 
 Daring their sojourn below, they have had no com- 
 munication with any one, save Don Gregorio, — who 
 has been, like themselves, invalided, — of course, also 
 the captain and cook, but not any one of the officers 
 or sailors of the ship. Indeed, on these they have 
 never set eyes, excepting on that da}- when the}' sailed 
 out through the Golden Gate. 
 
 And now they wish to see Harry Blew, and speak 
 with him, but cannot. Whatever the reason, they have 
 been a long time upon deck without finding an oppor- 
 tunity to communicate witli him ; and the}' wait for it 
 with irksome impatience. At length, however, it seems 
 to have arrived. He is in the waist, with several of 
 the sailors around him, occupied about one of the boats 
 there slung upon its davits. While regarding him and 
 his movements, the}- cannot avoid observing those be- 
 side him, nor help being struck by them ; not so much 
 their movements, as their features, and the expression 
 there exhibited. On no one of them is it pleasant, 
 but, on the contrary, scowling and savage. 
 
 Just then Harry, separating from the sailors, is 
 seen coming aft. It is in obedience to a message 
 which the black cook has brought up out of the cabin, 
 - - an order from Capt. Lantanas for his first officer t<? 
 meet him on the quarter-deck, and assist him in " taking 
 the sun." But the skipper himself has not }~et come 
 3p ; and, on reaching the quarter, the ex-man- o' -war's 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 805 
 
 man, for the first time since he shipped on the Chilian 
 craft, finds himself alone in the presence of the ladies 
 They salute him with an empressement which, to their 
 surprise, is but coldly returned ; only a slight bow, 
 after which he appears to busy himself with the log< 
 slate lying on the capstan-head. One closely scruti- 
 nizing him, however, would see that this is pretence ; 
 for his eyes are not on the slate, but furtively turned 
 towards the ship's waist, watching the men, from 
 whom he has just parted, and who seem to have their 
 eyes upon him. 
 
 The young ladies thus repulsed, almost rudely as 
 they take it, make no further attempt to bring on a 
 conversation, but, forsaking their seats, retire down the 
 companion-stairs, keeping on to their own state-room, 
 there to talk over a disappointment that has given 
 chagrin to both, but which neither can satisfactorily 
 explain. The more they canvass the conduct of the 
 Englishman, the stranger it seems to them, and the 
 greater grows their chagrin. For now they feel almost 
 sure that something must have happened, — that same 
 thing, whatever it be, which dictated those parting 
 compliments so cold and unfeeling. The}' seem doubly 
 so now ; for now they have evidence that such was the 
 sentiment, — almost proof of it in the behavior of 
 Harry Blew. He must know the feelings of his patron, 
 — the preserver of his life, — how the} 7 stood at their 
 last parting ; and from this he has taken his cue to act 
 as he is doing. Only in such sense can the ladies 
 account for his reticence, if not rudeness. 
 
 They are hurt by it, stung to the quick, and nevei 
 again during that voyage do they attempt entering into 
 com ersation with the first officer of the ' ' Condor ; ' 
 only on rare occasions showing themselves on deck, &a 
 
 26* 
 
806 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 if they disliked looking upon him who too vividly 
 reminds them of the treason of their lovers. 
 
 Can it be treason? And, if so why? Tkcy ask 
 these questions with eyes bent upon their fingers, --on 
 rings encircling them, placed there by those the}' are 
 thinking about. That of itself should be sufficient 
 proof of their loyalty. Yet it is not ; for love is above 
 all things suspicious ; however doting, ever doubting. 
 Even on this evidence of its reliability thc} T no longer 
 lean, and can scarce console themselves with the hope 
 hitherto sustaining them. Farther off than ever seems 
 the realizing of that sweet expectation founded upon 
 two words still ringing in their ears, " Hasia Cadiz! " 
 
 And thus the time somewhat tediously passes, till 
 the} 7 hear two other words of cheerful import, " Land 
 Ho ! " 
 
 The cry comes from one of the sailors stationed on 
 the foretopmast cross-trees of the " Condor." Since 
 sunrise, a lookout has been kept as the hands could be 
 spared. It is now near noon ; and land has just been 
 sighted. 
 
 Capt. Lantanas is not quite certain of what land it 
 is. He knows it as the Veraguan coast, but does not 
 recognize the particular place. Noon coming on with 
 an unclouded sky, enables him to catch the sun in its 
 meridian altitude, and so make him sure of a good 
 sight. And as the Chilian skipper is a skilled observer, 
 having confidence in the observations he has made, the 
 land sighted should be the Island of Coiba, or an islet 
 that covers it, called Hicaron. Both are off the coast 
 of Veragna, westward from Panama Bay, and about d 
 hundred miles from its mouth. Into this the " Condor ' 
 is seeking to make entrance. 
 
 Having ciphered out his noon reckoning, the skipper 
 
• A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 307 
 
 enters it in his log : " Lat. 7° 20' N. Long. 8S 12' \Y. 
 Wind W.S.W. Light breeze." While penning these 
 slight memoranda, little does he dream of what signifi- 
 cance they ma}' one day become. The night before, 
 while taking an observation of the stars, could he have 
 read them astrologicalty, he might have discoveicd 
 miny a chance against his ever making another entry 
 in that log-book. 
 
 A wind west-sou'-west is favorable for entering the 
 Bay of Panama. A ship steering around Cabo Mala, 
 once she has weathered this much-dreaded headland, 
 will have it on her starboard quarter. But the " Con- 
 dor," coming down from north, gets it nearly abeam; 
 and her captain, perceiving he has run a little too much 
 coastwise, cries out to the man at the wheel, "Hard 
 a-starboard ! Put the helm down ! Keep well off the 
 land.! " Saying this, he lights a cigarrito, for a minute 
 or two amuses himself with his monkeys, always play 
 ful at meeting him ; then, ascending to the poop-deck, 
 he enters into conversation with company more refined 
 — his lady passengers. 
 
 The sight of terra firma, with the thought of soon 
 setting foot on it, makes all joyous ; and Capt. Lanta- 
 nas adds to their exhilaration by assuring them, that in 
 less than twenty-four hours he will enter the Bay of 
 Panama, and in twenty-four after bring his bark 
 alongside the wharf of that ancient port, so oft pilkged 
 by filibusteros. 
 
 After staying an hour or so on deck, indulging in 
 cheerful conversation and pleasant anticipations, the 
 tropic sun becoming too sultry for comfort, one and all 
 retire to the cabin for shade, and to take, siesta; the 
 last being a habit of all Spanish Americans. The 
 Chilian skipper is also accustomed to have his afternoon 
 
308 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 nap. There is no nee J for his remaining longer on 
 deck. He has determined his latitude, figured up his 
 dead-reckoning, and set the " Condor " on her course. 
 Sailing on a sea without icebergs, or other dangerous 
 obstructions, he can go to sleep without any anxiety 
 on his mind. But, before lying down, he summons the 
 cook, and gives orders for a dinner, to be dressed in 
 the very best style the ship's stores can furnish ; thia 
 in celebration of the event of their having sighted land. 
 
 For a time the "Condor's" decks appear deserted. 
 No one seen, save the helmsman at the wheel, and 
 the second mate standing by his side. The sailors not 
 on duty have betaken themselves to the forecastle, or 
 are lolling in their bunks ; while those of the working- 
 watch — with no work to do — have sought shady 
 quarters, to escape from the sun's heat, now excessive ; 
 for the wind has been gradually d} T ing away, and is 
 now so light, that the vessel scarce makes steerage- 
 way. 
 
 Odd, though, the direction in which the breeze is 
 now striking her. It is upon the starboard quarter, 
 instead of the beam as it should be, and as Capt. 
 Lantanas left it on going below. Since then the wind 
 has not shifted, even a single point : therefore the 
 "Condor" must have changed her course. Beyond 
 doubt has she done this ; the man at the wheel having 
 put the helm up, instead of doiv?i, causing her to draw 
 closer to the land, in direct contradiction to the orders 
 of her captain. 
 
 Is it ignorance on the steersman's part? No : it can- 
 not be. Gil Gomez is at the helm, and, being a tolera- 
 ble seaman, should know how to handle it. Besides, 
 Padilla is standing by ; and the second mate, whatever 
 his moral qualities, is quite equal to the " conning" 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 309 
 
 of a ahip. He cannot fail to observe that the bark is 
 running too much inshore. Why has he not obeyoJ 
 the orders left by the captain? " 
 
 The words passing between the two tell why. 
 
 " You know all about the coast in there? " queries 
 Padilla, pointing to land looming up on the port-side. 
 
 " Ever}' inch of it : at least, sufficient to make sure 
 of a place where we can put in. That headland rising 
 the port-bow is Punta Marieta. We must stand well 
 in, taking care not to round it before evening. If we 
 did, and the breeze should blow off shore, which it will, 
 we'd have trouble to make back. Therefore we must 
 hug close, and keep under shelter of the land. With 
 this light wind we won't make much wa}' before night- 
 fall. Then, in the darkness, when they're below at 
 dinner, we can put about, and run along till we sight a 
 likebr landing-place." 
 
 " So far as being looked after by Lantanas. -f<? need 
 have no fear. To-daj- the cabin-dinner is to be a 
 grand spread. I overheard his orders to iLvt effect. 
 He intends making things pleasant for hi/ f.&ssengers 
 before parting with them. As a matter o.( <:curse, he'll 
 keep all night below, and get fuddled to boot, which 
 may spare us some trouble. It looks like nick, doesn't 
 it?" 
 
 " Not much matter about that," rejoins Gomez: 
 " it'll have to end all the same. Only, 33 3-ou saj r , the 
 skipper below will make it a little easier, and save some 
 unpleasantness in the way of blood-spilling. After 
 dinner, the senoritas are sure to come on deck. They've 
 done so every night ; and I hope they won't make this 
 one an exception. If Don Gregorio and the skipper 
 stay below " — 
 
 The dialogue is interrupted by the sti iking cf bells, 
 
310 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 to summon the second dog-watch on duty. Soon a* 
 the change is effected, Harry Blew takes charge, Striker 
 relieving Gomez at the wheel. Just at this instant 
 the head of Capt. Lantanas shows above the coamings 
 of the companion-stair. Gomez, seeing him, darts 
 back to the wheel, gives a strong pull at the spoke;, 
 Striker assisting him, so as to bring the bark's heat! 
 up, and the wind upon her beam. 
 
 "Good heavens!" exclaims the skipper angrily, 
 rushing up the companion-stair, and out to the rail. 
 
 What sees he there to evoke such an exclamation ? A 
 high promontory, almost abutting against the bows of 
 his ship. At a glance he identifies it as Ponta Marieta ; 
 for he knows the headland well, but also knows it 
 should not be on the bow, had his instructions to tho 
 steersman been attended to. 
 
 " Que cosaV lie cries in a bewildered way, rubbing 
 his eyes to make sure they are not deceiving him, then 
 interrogating, " "What does this mean, sir? You've 
 been keeping too close inshore : the very contrary to 
 what I commanded. Helm down — hard ! " 
 
 He at the wheel obeys, bringing the bark as close to 
 the wind as she can bear. Then the skipper, turning 
 angrily upon him, demands to know wiry his first in- 
 structions have not been carried out. 
 
 The ex-convict excuses himself, saying that he lias 
 just commenced his " trick," and knows nothing of 
 what has been done before. -He is keeping the " Con- 
 dor " on the same course she was in when he took her 
 from the last steersman. 
 
 The puzzled skipper again rubs his eyes, and takes a 
 fresh look at the coast-line. He is as much mystified 
 as ever. Still the mistake may have been his own ; 
 and, as he can perceive there will be no difficulty in yel 
 clearing the point, his anger cools down. 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 311 
 
 Soon the " Condor," hauled close to the wind, 
 regains her lost weatherway, sufficient for the doubling 
 of Punta Marie ta ; and, before the last bells of the 
 second dog-watch are sounded, she is in a fair course 
 for rounding the cape. The difficulty has been removed 
 by the wind veering suddenly round to the opposite 
 point of the compass. For it is now near night, and 
 the land-breeze has commenced blowing off shore. 
 Well acquainted with the . coast, and noticing the 
 change of wind, Capt. Lantanas knows all danger is 
 past ; and, with the tranquillity of his temper restored, 
 he goes back into his cabin to join his passengers at 
 dinner, which is just in the act of being served. 
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 PANAMA, OR SANTIAGO? 
 
 IT is the hour for setting the first night-watch ; and 
 the bells have been struck, not to summon any 
 sailor, but only intended for the cars of Capt. Lan- 
 tanas in the cabin below, lest the absence of the usual 
 sound should awake suspicion. The men of both 
 watches are on deck, assembled b} r the manger-board, 
 to take measures for carrying out their scheme of piracy 
 and plunder, now on the eve of execution. The gen- 
 eral plan is already understood b} r all: it but remains 
 to settle some final details. 
 
 Considering the atrocity of their design, it is painful 
 to see the first mate, Harry Blew, in their midst. O 
 nun! O British sailor! where is your gratitude? 
 
812 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 What has become of your honor 3'our oath ? The first 
 gone, the second disregarded, the last broken ! 
 
 Soon as together, the pirates enter upon discussion. 
 The first question which comes before' them is about 
 the place where they shall land. Upon this point there 
 is difference of opinion. Some are for going ashore at 
 once, on that part of the coast in sight. Others coun- 
 sel running on till they enter Panama Bay. At the 
 head of those in favor of the latter course is the chief 
 mate ; while the majority, controlled by Gomez and 
 Padilla; take an opposite view. Gomez, who is their 
 spokesman, argues in favor of landing, soon as they 
 can find a suitable place, and making direct for San- 
 tiago, the chief town of Veragua. He gives his rea- 
 sons, saying, — 
 
 " It isn't over a good day's journey from the coast. 
 And we can reach it by an easy road. But that's not 
 the thing of greatest importance. What most concerns 
 us is the safety of the place when we get to it ; and I 
 can answer for Santiago. Unless customs have changed 
 since I used to trifle away some time there, and people 
 too, we'll find those who'll show us hospitality. With 
 the money at our disposal, — ay, a tenth part of it, — I 
 could buy up the alcalde of the town, and every judge 
 in the province." 
 
 " That's the sort of town for us, and country too ! " 
 exclaim several in a breath. 
 
 "We'll first have to put about,'' explains Gomez, 
 " and run along the coast till we find an opening in 
 the reef." 
 
 " Yes," rejoins Harry Blew, speaking satirically, 
 and as if annoyed by the majority going against him. 
 " An', if we put about just now, we'll stand a good 
 chance of goby slap on trem rocks on the port-beam 
 
A STORY OF TTOi SOUTH SEA. '.13 
 
 Thar's a line o' whitecaps along shoro far's I can see* 
 How's a boat to be got through them? She'd be bilged 
 to a sartinty." 
 
 "There are breakers." admits Gomez, "but not 
 continuous. I remember there are several openings 
 where a boat, or a ship for that matter, may be safely 
 got through." 
 
 " Vaya, camarados ! " exclaims Padilla with a ges- 
 ture of impatience. " We're wasting time, which just 
 now is valuable. Let's have the bark about, and 
 stand along the coast, as Gil Gomez proposes. I 
 second his proposal ; but, if you like, let it go to a 
 vote." 
 
 " No need : we all agree to it." 
 
 "Yes, all of us." 
 
 " W r ell, shipmates," says Harry Blew, seeing him 
 self obliged to give wa} r , and conceding the point with 
 apparent reluctance, "if 3-e're all in favor o' steerin' 
 up coast, I an't goin' to stand out against it. It be 
 the same to me one way or t'other. So to Santiago 
 let's go. But, if the bark's to be put about, I tell ye 
 there's no time to be lost : otherways, we'll go into 
 them whitecaps sure, the which wud send this craft 
 to Davy Jones sooner than we intended." 
 
 " Plenty of sea-room," says the second mate, " if 
 we about with her at once." 
 
 " You see to it, Padilla," directs Gomez, who, from 
 hi3 Buccess in having his plan adopted in opposition 
 to that of the first officer, thinks he may now take 
 command. 
 
 The second mate starts aft, and, going up to the 
 helmsman, whispers a word or two in his ear. In- 
 stantly the helm is put hard up ; and the bark, pnyinu 
 off, wears round from east to west-nor'-west. The 
 
 27 
 
314 THE FLAG OF DISTKESS. 
 
 sailors at the same time brace about her yards, ani 
 trim her sails for the changed course, executing the 
 manoeuvre, not, as is usual, with a chorused chant, but 
 silently, as if the ship were a spectre, and her crew 
 but shadows. 
 
 The bark is now about a league's distance from 
 land; and halfway between are the breakers, their 
 roar sounding ominousry through the calm quiet of the 
 night. The vessel making but little way, — only two 
 or three knots an hour, — one proposes that the boat be 
 lowered at once, and such traps as the}' intend taking 
 put into her. In such a tranquil sea it will tow along- 
 side in safety. As this will be so much work in ad- 
 vance, the plan is approved of, and the}' proceed to 
 its execution ; the pinnace being selected as the most 
 suitable boat for beaching. Clustering around it, the}' 
 commence operations. Two leap lightly into it, ship 
 the rudder, secure the oars and boat-hooks, clear the 
 life-lines, and cast off the lanyards of the gripes ; the 
 others holding the fall-tackle in hand, to sec that they 
 are clear for running. Then, taking a prop:r turn, they 
 lower away. 
 
 Other movements succeed ; the pirates passing to 
 and from the forecastle, canying canvas bags, and 
 bundles of clothing, with such other of their belong- 
 ings as the}' deem necessaiy for a debarkation like that 
 intended. A barrel of pork, another of biscuit, and a 
 beaker of water, are also turned out, and handed dowu 
 into the boat, not forgetting a keg containing rum, 
 and several bottles of wine the}- have purloined from 
 the ship's stores. 
 
 In silence, but with no great show of caution or 
 stealth, are all these movements made. The}' have but 
 little fear of being detected ; some scarce caring if they 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 315 
 
 oe. Indeed, there is no one to observe ihem who is 
 not taking part ; for the negro cook, after dressing 
 the dinner and serving it, has gone out of the galley 
 for good, and now, acting as steward, kee^s below in 
 the cabin, waiting on the guests at table. 
 
 Soon eveiy thing is stowed awa}' in the pinnace, 
 except that which is to form its most precious freight ; 
 and again the piratical crew bring their heads together 
 to arrange about the final step, the time to take which 
 is fast drawing nigh. A thing so serious calls for calm 
 deliberation ; or, at all events, there must be a thorough 
 understanding among them, for it is the disposal of 
 those they have destined as the victims of their villany. 
 All quite understand how this is to be done, though 
 nothing definite has yet been said of it : even the most 
 hardened among them shrinks from putting it in plain 
 words. Still is it tacitly understood the ladies are to be 
 taken along, the others to be dealt with in a different 
 way. 
 
 For a time they stand silent, waiting for one who 
 has the hardihood to speak. There is one who has all 
 this, — a ruffian of unmitigated type, whose breast is 
 not moved bj T the slightest throb of humanity. It is the 
 second mate, Padilla. Breaking silence, he says, 
 " Let's get the women into the boat, and heave the 
 others overboard, and have done with it." 
 
 The horrible proposition, despite the auditory to 
 whom it is addressed, does not find favorable response. 
 Several speak in opposition to it, Harry Blew first and 
 loudest. Though broken his word, and forfeited his 
 faith, the British sailor is not so abandontd as to con- 
 template murder in such a cool, deliberate manner. 
 Some of those around him have no doubt committed 
 it ; but he does not yet feel up to it. Opposing i^a* 
 
316 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 dilla's counsel, he says, "What need for our kdlin' 
 them at all? For m} r part, T don't see any." 
 
 "And, for your part, what would you do?' sneer- 
 mgly retorts the second mate. 
 
 " Give them a chance for their lives." 
 
 " How? " promptly asks Padilla. 
 
 " Why, if we set the bark's head out to sea, and 
 trim her sails right, as the wind's off-shore, she'd soon 
 rarry them beyont sight o' land ; and we'd niver hear 
 another word about 'em." 
 
 "Carrcd!" exclaims Padilla scornfully. "That 
 would be a wise way, — just the one to get our throats in 
 the garrota! You forget that Don Gregorio Montijo is 
 a man of the big grandee kind ; and, should he ever 
 set foot ashore after what we'd done to him, he'd 
 have influence enough to make most places, if not the 
 whole of the earth, too hot for us. There's an old saw 
 about dead men telling no tales. No doubt most of 
 you have heard it, and some know it to be a true one. 
 Take my advice, camarados, and let us act up to it. 
 What's 3'our opinion, Seiior Gomez? " 
 
 " Since 3-ou ask for it," responds Gomez, speaking 
 for the first time on this special matter, "my opinion 
 is, that there's no need for airy difference among us. 
 Mr. Blew's against killing them ; and so would I if it 
 could be avoided. But it can't with safety to ourselves, 
 — at least not in the way he has suggested. To do as 
 he says would be madness on our part, more, it might be 
 suicide. I think I know a way that will save us from 
 actually murdering them, and secure our own safety all 
 the same." 
 
 " What way? " demand several voices. 
 
 "One simple enough, — so simple, I wonder you 
 toaven't all thought of it, as well as I. Of courso we 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 317 
 
 mtond sending this pretty craft o the bottom of the 
 Bea ; but she is not likely to go down till we're a good 
 way off, altogether out of sight. We can leave them 
 aboard, and let them slip quietly down along with 
 her." 
 
 " Why, that's just what Blew proposes," say several. 
 
 "True," returns Gomez, "but not exactly as 1 
 mean it. He'd leave them free to go about the ship, 
 perhaps get off her when she sinks, on a sofa, or spar, 
 or something." 
 
 "Then how would you do with them?" asks one 
 impatiently. 
 
 "Bind the gentlemen before bidding them adieu." 
 
 "Bah! " exclaims Padilla, a monster to whom cold 
 blood seems congenial. " What's the use of being at 
 all that bother ? It's sure to bring trouble. The skipper 
 will resist ; and so'll the old Don. What then? We'll 
 be compelled to knock them on the head all the same, 
 or toss them overboard. So let's put a stopper on 
 them at once !" 
 
 "Why, man!" cries Striker, hitherto only a lis- 
 tener, but a backer of Harry Blew : " you 'pear to 'a 
 been practisin' a queer}' plan in jobs o' this sort. 
 That o' Gomez be far the best way, — same as I've seed 
 in the Australian bush, where they an't so blood- 
 thirsty. When they stick up a chap theer, so long's 
 he don't cut up nasty, they settle things by splicin* 
 him to a tree, an' leavin' him to his meditashuns. 
 Why can't we do the same wi' the skipper an' the Don, 
 supposin' 'em to show refractory? " 
 
 "That's it!" exclaims Davis, strengthening the 
 proposal thus indorsed by his chum Striker. " My ole 
 pal's got the correct idea of sich things." 
 
 " Besides," continues the older of the ex-con*, icts 
 27* 
 
818 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 " this job seems to me simple enuf. We want the 
 swag; an' some seems to be wantin' the gnls. Well, 
 we can git both 'ithout the needcessity o' doin' mur- 
 der!" 
 
 "I tell you what," interposes Hairy Blew, " fir 
 myself, as I've said, I object to killing, or the sight o' 
 blood, where it an't a absolute needcessity. True, by 
 leavin' them aboard, an' tied, as Mr. Gomez advises ; 
 the3 r 'll get drowned for sartin ; but it'll keep oui 
 hands clear o' red murder." 
 
 " That's true ! " cry several in assent. "Let's take 
 the Australian way of it, and tie them up ! " 
 
 The assenting voices are in the majority ; and the 
 compromise suggested by Gomez is carried. So far 
 every thing is fixed. It but remains to arrange about 
 the action, and apportion to every one his part. This 
 is soon settled. The first officer, assisted by Davis, who 
 has some knowledge of ship carpentry, is to see to the 
 scuttling of the vessel ; Velarde and Hernandez to 
 take charge of the girls, and get them into the boat ; 
 Gomez to see to the steering of the vessel ; the second 
 mate to head the party intrusted with the seizure of 
 the gold ; while Striker and the Frenchman are to tie 
 up the unfortunate men whose lives are to be sacrificed. 
 The atrocious plan is complete in all its revolting 'le- 
 tails, the hour of its execution at hand. 
 
A STOBY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 319 
 
 CHAPTER XLH. 
 
 THE DREADED TINTORERAS. 
 
 WITH all sail set, the bark glides silently on — 
 to her doom. Gomez has taken charge of the 
 steering, he alone having any knowledge of the coast. 
 They are less than a league from land, shaving close 
 alon^ the outer ed^e of the breakers. The breeze now 
 blowing off-shore makes it easy to keep clear of them. 
 
 There is high land on the starboard-bow, gradually 
 drawing more distinct. Gomez fancies he remembers 
 it, and soon is sure ; for in the clear moonlight is dis- 
 closed the outline of a hill, which, once seen, could not 
 easily be forgotten, — a cerro with two summits, and a 
 col, or saddle-like depression, between. 
 
 Yes, he is certain he has seen that double-headed 
 hill before : still, though a conspicuous landmark, it 
 does not point out any landing-place, only that they 
 are entering the great gulf which here indents the 
 Veraguan coast. 
 
 As the bark moves on, bringing the hill abeam, he 
 sees a reach of clear water opening inland ; to all ap- 
 pearance a bay, with mouth miles in width. 
 
 He would run into it, but is forbidden by the break- 
 ers, whose froth-crested belt extends across its entrance 
 from cape to cape. Running past, he again close? on 
 the land, now within less than a league, and soon has 
 the two-headed hill abeam, its singular silhouette con- 
 spicuous against the moonlit sky, all the more from the 
 
820 THE FLAG OF DISTKESS. 
 
 moon being bej'oncl and low down, showing betweet 
 the twin summits like a great globe lamp there suspend- 
 ed. When nearly opposite, he observes an open space 
 in the line of breakers, easily told by its dark tranquil 
 surface, which contrasts with the white horse-tails lash 
 ing up on each side of it. 
 
 Soon as sighting it, Gomez drops the wheel, intrust- 
 ing it to the Dutch sailor as he does so, giving the 
 latter directions how to steer. Then leaving the poop, 
 he proceeds towards the ship's waist, where he finds 
 all the others read}' for action, — Striker and La Crosse 
 with pieces of rope for making fast the ill-fated men ; 
 Padilla and his party armed with axes and crowbars, 
 the ke3 T s with which they intend to open the locker- 
 doors. 
 
 Near the mainmast stands the first mate, a lighted 
 lantern in his hand ; Davis beside him, with auger, 
 mallet, and chisel. The3 r arc by the main-hatchway, 
 which the}' have opened, evidently intending descent 
 Into the hold. With the lantern concealed under the 
 skirt of his ample dreadnought, Harry Blew stands 
 within the shadow of the mast, as if reflecting on his 
 faithlessness, ashamed to let his face be seen. He 
 even seems reluctant to proceed in the black business, 
 while affecting the opposite. As the others are now 
 occupied in various ways, with their ej'es off him, he 
 steps out to the ship's side, and looks over the rail. 
 The moon is now full upon his face, which, under her 
 soft innocent beams, shows an expression difficult as 
 ever to interpret. The most skilled physiognomist 
 could not read it. There is sign of more than one 
 emotion striving within his breast, mingling together, 
 or succeeding each other, quick as the changing hues 
 of the chameleon. Now it seems g'lilty cupidity, ^iow 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 321 
 
 ramorse, anon the dark shadow of despair. The last 
 growing darker, he draws nearer to the side, and look? 
 more earnestly over, as if about to plunge into the sea, 
 and so rid himself of a life ever after to be a burden. 
 
 While standing thus, apparently hesitating as to 
 whether he should drown himself, and have done with 
 it, soft voices sound in his ears, mingling their tones 
 with the breeze as it sighs through the rigging of the 
 ship. Simultaneously there is a rustling of dresses ; 
 and, the moment after, he sees two female forms, robed 
 in white, with shawls over their shoulders, and ker- 
 chiefs covering their heads. Stepping out on the 
 quarter-deck, thej r stand for a short while, the moon 
 shining on their faces, both bright and cheerful as her 
 beams. Then they stroll aft, little dreaming of the 
 doom that awaits them. 
 
 Their unsuspecting innocence should soften his tiai- 
 torous heart. Instead, it seems to steel it the more, 
 as if their presence but recalled, and quickened within 
 him, some vow of revenge. He hesitates no longer 
 but, gliding back to the hatch, climbs over its coamings, 
 and, lantern in hand, descends into the hold, there to 
 do a deed which light of moon or sun should not 
 shine upon. 
 
 Though within the tropics, and but a few degrees 
 from the equatorial line, there is dullness in the air 
 jf the night, now nearing its mid-hours. Drawing 
 their cloaks closely around them, the young ladies 
 mount up to the poop, and stand resting their hands 
 an the taffrail. For a time they are silent, their eyes 
 turned astern, watching the foam in the ship's wake lit 
 up with dancing phosphorescence. They observe other 
 sparkling scintillations beside those in the " Condor's'' 
 
322 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 wake. There are broad splatches of it all over th* 
 surface of the sea, with here and there elongated sillons, 
 seemingly made by some creatures in motion, swim- 
 ming parallel to the ship's course, and keeping pace 
 with her. The two girls have not voyaged through 
 thirty degrees of the Pacific Ocean to be now told what 
 these are. They know them to be sharks, as also that 
 some of larger size and brighter luminosity are those 
 of the tintorera, that species so much dreaded bj r the 
 pearl-divers of Panama Ba}- and the Gulf of Califor- 
 nia. This night, both tiburones and tintoreras are 
 more numerous than the}' have before observed them, 
 closer also to the vessel's side ; for the sharks, obser- 
 vantly, have seen a boat lowered down, which gives 
 anticipation of pre} 7 nearer reach of their ravenous 
 jaws. 
 
 " Santissima I " exclaims Carmen, as one makes a 
 dash at some waif drifting astern. "What a fearful 
 thing it would be to fall overboard in the midst of 
 those horrid creatures ! One wouldn't have the slight- 
 est chance of being saved. Only to think how little 
 space there is between us and certain death ! You see 
 that monster just below, with its great, glaring e}'es ! 
 It looks as if it wanted to leap up, and lay hold of us. 
 Ugh ! I mustn't keep my eyes on it any longer. It 
 makes me tremble in a strange way. I do believe, if I 
 continued gazing at it, I should grow giddy, and drop 
 over into its jaws. Sobrina, are you not glad we're 
 so near the end of our voj'age? " 
 
 "I'm not sorry, tia: I fancy ;no one ever is. 1 
 should be more pleased, however, if it ivere the end of 
 our voyage, which, unfortunately, it isn't. Before we 
 Bee Spain, we've another equally as long." 
 
 " True, — as long in duration and distance ; but 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 323 
 
 otherwise, it may be very different, and I hope more 
 endurable. Across the Atlantic, we'll have passage 
 in a big steamship, w T ith a grand dining-saloon and 
 state sleeping-rooms, each in itself as large as the 
 main cabin of the * Condor.' Besides, we'll have 
 plenty of company, — passengers like ourselves. Let 
 us hope they may turn out nice people. If so, oui 
 Atlantic voyage will be more enjoyable than this on 
 the Pacific." 
 
 " But we've been very comfortable in the ' Condor ; ' 
 and I'm sure Capt. Lantanas has done all he could to 
 make things agreeable for us." 
 
 " He has indeed, the clear good creature ! and I 
 shall ever feel grateful to him. Still you must admit, 
 that, however well meant, we've been at times a little 
 bored by his learned dissertations. O Inez ! it's been 
 awfully lonely and frightfully monotonous : at least to 
 me." 
 
 "Ah! I understand. What you want is a bevy of 
 bachelors as fellow-passengers, to enliven one. Well, 
 I suppose there will be in the big steamer ; like enough 
 a half-score of our mustached militarios, returning from 
 Cuba and other colonies. Wouldn't that make our 
 Atlantic voyage enjoyable?" 
 
 " Not mine, nothing of the sort, as you know, Inez. 
 To speak truth, it was neither the loneliness nor mo- 
 notony of our Pacific voyage that has m&de it so 
 miseratle — something else." 
 
 " I t-iink I can guess the something else." 
 
 "If so, you'll be clever. It's more than I can. ,J 
 
 " Might it have any thing to do with those cold part- 
 ing compliments, and the informal leave-taking? Of 
 course it has. Come, Carmen ! You promised me 
 \ou'd think no more about that till we see them in 
 Cadiz, and have it all cleared up." 
 
324 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 " You're wrong again, Iiiez. It is not any thing oi 
 them." 
 
 "What then? It can't be the mal de mer? Of it 
 / might complain. I'm even suffering from it now, 
 although the sea is so calm. But 3 t ou — wiry, }*ou stand 
 the sea as well as one of those rough sailors them- 
 selves ! You're just the woman to be a naval officer's 
 wife ; and, when your novio gets command of a ship, I 
 suppose 3 T ou'll be for sailing all round the world with 
 him." 
 
 "You're merry, mora." 
 
 " Well, who wouldn't be, with the prospect of so 
 soon setting foot on land ? For my part, I detest the 
 sea; and, when I marry my little guardia-marina, I'll 
 make him forsake it, and take to some pleasanter pro- 
 fession. And if he prefer doing nothing, by good luck 
 the rent of my lands will keep us both comfortably, 
 with something to spare for a town house in Cadiz. 
 But come, Carmen! Tell me what's troubling you? 
 Surety }'ou must know it." 
 
 " Surety I don't, Inez. I can't tell myself." 
 
 " That's strange, a mystery. Might it be regret at 
 leaving behind } T our preux chevaliers of California, — 
 that grand, gallant De Lara, whom at our last inter- 
 view we saw sprawling in the road-dust? You ought 
 to feel relieved at getting rid of him, as I of my im- 
 portunate suitor, the Sefior Calderon. B}- the waj- I 
 wonder whatever became of them. Only to think of 
 their never coming near us to say good-by ! And 
 that nothing was seen or heard of them afterwards? 
 Something must have happened. What could it have 
 been? I've tried to think, but without succeeding." 
 
 "Sol the same. It is indeed very strange ; though 
 I fancy father heard something about them which he 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 325 
 
 does not wish to make known to us. You reniembei 
 what happened after we'd left the house, — those men 
 coming to it in the night. Father has an idea they 
 intended taking his gold, believing it still there. 
 What's more, I think ae half suspects, that, of the four 
 men, — for there appear to have been four of them, — 
 two were no other than our old acquaintances," she had 
 almost said suitors ; but the word gives her a spasm of 
 pain, — " Francisco de Lara and Faustino Calderon." 
 
 " Maria de merced! " exclaims Iiiez. " It's fright- 
 ful to think of such a thing. And we ought to be 
 thankful to the good saint for saving us from such vil- 
 lains, as glad to get away from a country where then- 
 like are allowed to live." 
 
 " Sobrina, ybu'Ve touched the point. The very 
 thought that's been distressing me is the remembrance 
 of those men. Even since leaving San Francisco, as 
 before we left, I've had a strange heaviness on my 
 heart, a sort of boding fear that we haven't yet seen 
 the last of them. It haunts me like a spectre. I can't 
 tell why, unless it be from what I know of De Lara. 
 He's not the man to submit to that great defeat of 
 which we were witnesses : be assured he will seek to 
 avenge it. We expected a duel, and feared it. Likely 
 there would have been one, but for the sailing of the 
 English ship. Still that won't hinder such a desperate 
 man as Don Francisco from going after Senor Crozier, 
 and trying to kill him, an)- way he can. I have a fee r 
 hell follow him — is after him now." 
 
 u What if he is? Your fiance can take care of him- 
 self, as so can mine if Calderon should get it into his 
 sill}- head to go after him. Let them go, so long as 
 they don't come after :is ; which they're not 1 ; My- 
 all the way to Spain." 
 28 
 
826 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 " I'm not so sure of that. Such as the}' may masc 
 fijeir waj^ anywhere. Professional gamblers, as we 
 now know them to be, travel to all parts of the world. 
 All cities give them the same opportunity to pursue 
 their outlawed calling: why not Cadiz? But, Inez, 
 there's something I haven't told 3-011, thinking you 
 might make mock of it. I've had a fright more than 
 once, several times, since we came aboard the ' Con- 
 dor." ' 
 
 1 ' A fright ! What sort of a fright ? ' ' 
 
 " If 3'ou promise not to laugh at me, I'll tell 3 r ou." 
 
 " I promise. I won't." 
 
 " 'T would be no laughing matter, were it true ; but, 
 of course, it could 01113- be fancy." 
 
 "Fancy about what? Go on, tial I'm all impa- 
 tience." 
 
 " About the sailors on board. All have bad faces ; 
 some of them like very demonios. But there's one 
 has particularly impressed me. Would you Relieve it, 
 Inez? he has e3'es exactty like De Lara's! His fea- 
 tures, too, resemble those of Don Francisco, only that 
 the sailor has a great beard and whiskers, while he had 
 none. Of course, the resemblance can be onty acciden- 
 tal. Still it caused me a start when I first observed 
 it, and has several times since, never more than this 
 very morning, when I was up here, and saw that man. 
 Lie was at the wheel, all hy himself, steering. Several 
 times, on turning suddenly round, I caught him look- 
 ing straight at me, staring in the most insolent man 
 ner. I had half a mind to complain to Capt. Lantanas \ 
 but, reflecting that we were so near the end of our 
 voyage " — 
 
 She is not permitted to sa3 r more ; for at the moment, 
 a man springing up to the poop, as if he had risen 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 327 
 
 out tl It, stands before her, — the sailor who resembles 
 De Lara. Making a low bow, he saj's, — 
 
 " Not near the end of 3-our voyage, seTiorita, but at* 
 it" adding with an ironical smile, "Now, ladies, you 
 arc going ashore. The boat is down ; and, combining 
 business with pleasure, it's my duty to hand you into 
 it." 
 
 While he is speaking, another of the sailors ap- 
 proaches Inez. It is Hernandez, who offers his ser- 
 vices in a similar strain. 
 
 For a moment the young ladies are speechless 
 through sheer surprise. Horror succeeds, as the truth 
 flashes upon them. And then, instead of coherent 
 speech, they make answer by a simultaneous shriek ; at 
 the same time attempting to retreat towards the com- 
 panion-stair. 
 
 Not a step is permitted them. They are seized in 
 strong arms, and half dragged, half lifted off their 
 feet, hurried away from the taffrail. Even their cries 
 are hindered by huge woollen caps drawn over their 
 heads, and down to their chins, almost stifling them. 
 Though no longer seeing, and but indistinctly hearing, 
 the}' can tell where they are being taken. They feel 
 'themselves lifted over the vessel's side, and lowered 
 down man-ropes into a boat, along the bottom of 
 which they are finally laid, and held fast, as if they 
 had fallen into the jaws of those terrible tint ore ras they 
 law keeping company with the ship. 
 
828 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS* 
 
 CHAPTER XLin. 
 
 THE BARK ABANDONED. 
 
 SIMULTANEOUS with the abduction on deck, 
 there is a scene in the "Condor's" cabin that 
 might be likened to a saturnalia of demons. 
 
 The skipper and Don Gregorio, sitting over their 
 walnuts and wine, are startled by the sound of footsteps 
 descending the stair; these hea\ r 3 r -and hurried, bearing 
 no resemblance to the gentle tread of women. It 
 cannot be the ladies coming down again. Nor yet the 
 negro cook, since his voice is heard above in angry 
 expostulation ; for two of the sailors have seized him 
 in his galle}', throttled him back on the bench, and are 
 there lashing him with a piece of log-line. 
 
 They at the cabin-table know nothing of this. 
 They hear his shouts, with the shrieks of the ladies, 
 but have no time to seek explanation, as at that instant 
 the door is dashed open, and several sailors burst in, 
 the second mate at their head. Lantanas, facing the 
 door, sees them first ; Don Gregorio, turning in his 
 seat, the instant after. Neither thinks of demanding 
 a reason for the rude intrusion. The determined air 
 of tne intruders, with the fierce, reckless expression on 
 their faces, tells it would be idle. 
 
 In a time shorter than it takes to tell it, the two 
 doomed men are made fast to the stanchioned chairs, 
 where the} 7 sit bolt upright, firm as bollard heads, 
 though not in silence. Boih utter threats, oaths, angrj 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 329 
 
 fu] ruinations. Not long are the}* allowed even freedom 
 of speech. One of the sailors thrusts something be- 
 tween Capt. Lantanas' teeth, gagging him. Another, 
 read}' prepared for remonstrance, does the like foi Don 
 Gregorio. Then the work of pillage proceeds. The 
 locker-lids are forced, and the boxes of gold-dust 
 dragged out. Several comings and goings are re- 
 quired for its transport to the pinnace ; but at length 
 it is stowed in the boat, the plunderers taking their 
 seats beside it. One lingers in the cabin behind the 
 rest, that fiend in human shape who has all along 
 counselled killing the unfortunate men. Left alone 
 with them, — they helpless, and at his mere}', — he looks 
 as if still determined to do this. It is not from any 
 motive of compassion that he goes from one to the 
 other, and strikes the gags from between their teeth ; 
 for at the same time he apostrophizes them in horrid 
 mockery : — 
 
 " Carramba! I can't think of leaving two gentlemen 
 seated at such a well-furnished table, without being 
 able to hob-nob, and converse with one another." 
 Specially addressing Lantanas, he continues, " You 
 see, captain, I'm not spiteful ; else I shouldn't think 
 of showing 3*011 this bit of civility, after the insults 
 you've offered me since I've been second officer of 
 your ship." Then approaching Don Gregorio angrily, 
 he shrieks into his ear, "Perhaps you don't remember 
 me, Montijo. But I do you. Can your worship recall 
 a circumstance that occurred some six }*ears ago, when 
 you were alcalde-mayor of Yerba Buena? You may 
 remember having a poor fellow pilloried and whipped 
 for doing a bit of contraband. I was that unfortunate 
 individual. And this is my satisfaction for the indig- 
 nity you put upon me. Keep your seats, gentlemei I 
 
 2S* 
 
830 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 Drink your wine, and eat your walnuts. Before you've 
 cleared the table, this fine bark, with 3*0111- noble 
 selves, will be at the bottom of the sea." The ruffian 
 concludes with a peal of scornful laughter, continued 
 as he ascends the cabin-stair, after striding out, and 
 clanging the door behind him. 
 
 On deck he finds himself alone, and, hurrying to 
 the ship's waist, scrambles over the side, down into 
 the pinnace, where he finds every thing stowed, the 
 oarsmen seated on the thwarts, their oars in the row- 
 locks, read}' to shove off. The}' are not all there yet. 
 The first mate and Davis are still aboard the vessel. 
 
 There are those who would gladly cast loose, and 
 leave the laggards behind. Soon as stepping into the 
 boat, Padilla proposes it, the other Spaniards abetting 
 him. But their traitorous desire is opposed by Striker. 
 However otherwise debased, the ex-convict is true to 
 the men who speak his own tongue. He protests in 
 strong, determined language, and is backed by the 
 Dutchman, Dane, and La Crosse, as also Tarry and 
 Slush. 
 
 "Bah!" exclaims Padilla, seeing himself in the 
 minority: " I was only jesting. Of course, I had no 
 intention to abandon them. Ha, ha, ha ! " he adds 
 with a forced laugh, " we'd be the blackest of traitors 
 to behave that way." 
 
 Striker pays no heed to the hypocritical speech, but 
 calls to his fellow-convict and Harry Blew, alternately 
 pronouncing their names. He at length gets response, 
 and soon after sees Davis above, clambering over the 
 rail. Blew- is not far off, but still does not appear. 
 He is by the foot of the mainmast with a halyard in 
 his hands, as though hoisting something aloft. The 
 moon has become clouded, and it is too dark for an^ 
 ^ne to pee what it is. 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 331 
 
 " Rillo, there, Blew!" again hails Striker: 'what 
 De a-keepin' ye? Huny down ! These Spanish chapa 
 arc threctnin' to go off without ye." 
 
 " Hang it! " exclaims the chief mate, now showing 
 at the side. " I hope that an't true ! " 
 
 " Certainly not!" exclaims Padilla, "nothing of 
 the kind. We were only afraid you might clela}' too 
 long, and be in danger of going down with the 
 vessel." 
 
 " Not much fear o' that," returns Blew, dropping 
 with Davis into the boat. "It'll be some time afore 
 she sinks. Ye fixed the rudder for her to run out 
 didn't ye?" 
 
 " A} T , a} r ! " responds he who was last at the wheel. 
 
 "All right: shove off, then! That wind'll take 
 the old "Condor" straight seawart ; an', long afore 
 sunrise, she'll be out sight o' land. Give way there 
 -way!" 
 
 The oars dip and plash. The boat separates from 
 the side, with prow turned shoreward. The bark, with 
 all sail still spread, is left to herself and the breeze, 
 which wafts her gently away towards the wide wilder- 
 ness of ocean. 
 
 Proceeding cautioush r , guarding against the rattle 
 of an oar in its rowlock, the pirates run their boat 
 through the breakers, and approach the shore. Ahead 
 they see the two summits, with the moon just going 
 down between them. 
 
 The shore out 1 me is a cove of horseshoe shape, the 
 cliffs extending aiound it. With a few more strokes, 
 the boat is brought into it, and glides on to its inner- 
 most end. 
 
 As the keel grates upon its shingly strand, their cars 
 aie saluted by a chorus of cries, the alarm signal of 
 
332 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 sea-birds, startled by the intrusion. Some fly up fn m 
 the beach, others from ledges along the cliff's face. 
 The scream of the sea-eagle can be distinguished like 
 the laugh of a maniac. These sounds, notwithstand- 
 ing their discordance, are sweet to those now hearing 
 them. They tell of a shore uninhabited, — literally, 
 that the " coast is clear," — just as desired. Beach- 
 ing their boat, the pirates spring on shore, and lift the 
 captives out, then their spoils, — one unresisting as the 
 other. Some go in search of a place where the}' may 
 pass t lie night ; for it is too late to think of moving 
 inland. Between the strand and the cliffs base, they 
 discover a place, several feet above sea-level, having 
 an area of over an acre, covered with coarse grass, — 
 just the spot for camping-ground. As the sky lias 
 become clouded, and threatens a downpour of rain, 
 the} T carry thither the boat's sail, intending to rig it up 
 as an awning. But a discovery is made which spares 
 them the trouble. Along its base, the cliff is honey- 
 combed with caves, one of ample dimensions, sufficient 
 to shelter the whole crew. A ship's lamp, which they 
 have brought with them, when lighted, throws its glare 
 upon stalactites that sparkle like the pendants of 
 chandeliers. Disposing themselves in various atti- 
 tudes, — some reclined on their spread pilot-coats, some 
 seated on stones or canvas bags, — the}' enter upon a 
 debauch v r ith the wine abstracted from the cabin-stores 
 of the abandoned bark, — drinking, talking, singing, 
 and shouting, till the cavern rings with their rude 
 revelry. It is well their captives are not compelled to 
 take part in it. To them has been appropriated one 
 of the smaller grottoes, the boat-sail fixed in front, 
 securing them privacy. Harry Blew has done this. 
 In the breast of the British mau-o'-war's-man there is 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 333 
 
 still a spark of delicacy. Though his gratitude has 
 given way to the greed of gold, lie has not 3-et sunk to 
 the low level of ruffianism around him. 
 
 While the carousal is thus carried on within the 
 cave, without the overcast sky begins to discharge 
 itself. Lightning forks and flashes athwart the firma- 
 ment ; thunder rolls reverberating along the cliffs ; a 
 strong wind sweeps them ; and rain rushes down in 
 torrents. 
 
 It is a tropic storm, shortlived, — lasting scarce an 
 hour ; but, while on, it lashes the sea into fury, driving 
 the breakers upon the beach, where the boat has been 
 left looseh* moored. In the reflux of the ebbing tide, 
 it is set afloat, and carried away seaward. Coming 
 upon the coral reef, it bilges, is broken to pieces ; and 
 the fragments, as waifs, dance about, and drift far away 
 over the foam-crested billows. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 TTVO TAR QUINS. 
 
 IT is an hour after midnight. A calm has succeeded 
 the storm ; and silence reigns around the cove 
 where the pirates have put in. The sea-birds have 
 leturned to their perches on the cliff, and now sit noise- 
 lessly, save an occasional angry scream from the osprey, 
 as a whippoorwill, or some other plumed plunderer of 
 the night, flits past his place of repose, near enough to 
 wake the tyrant of the seashore, and excite his jealous 
 rage. Other sounds are the dull boom of the ovtsida 
 
334 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 breakers, and the lighter ripple of the tidal waves 
 washing over a strand rich in shells, and coral worn by 
 attrition into a thousand shapes. Now and then a 
 manatee, raising its bristled snout above the surf, gives 
 out a low, prolonged wail, like the cry of some creature 
 in mortal agon}'. It might be mistaken for the moan 
 of a human being, whose spirit is sorely oppressed. 
 
 But there is no human voice now. The ruffians have 
 ended their carousal. Their profane songs, ribald jests, 
 and drunken cachinnations, inharmoniously mingling 
 with the soft monotone of the sea, have ceased to be 
 heard. They lie astretch along the cavern floor, its 
 hollow aisles echoing back only their snores and ster- 
 torous breathing. 
 
 But they are not all asleep, nor all inside the cavern. 
 Two are outside, seen making approach towards the 
 grotto occupied by the captive girls. As the moon has 
 gone down, it is too dark to distinguish their faces. 
 Still there is light enough reflected from the luminous 
 surface of the sea to show that neither is in sailor garb, 
 but in the habiliments of landsmen, — this the national 
 costume of Spanish California. On their heads are 
 sombreros of ample brim ; on their legs, trousers, open- 
 seamed, flapping loose around their ankles ; while over 
 their shoulders they carry cloaks, which, by their pecu- 
 liar drape, are recognizable as mangas of Mexico. 
 
 In the obscurity, the color cannot be determined ; 
 but one is scarlet, the other sky-blue. As dressed 
 now, it would be difficult io identify these men as 
 Gomez and Hernandez. Yet it is they. 
 
 They are approaching the grotto without any show 
 of fear, or even caution ; slowly, and in conversation. 
 Gomez has commenced it, saying, — 
 
 "I've been thinking, companero, now we've got 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 335 
 
 ever}' thing straight so far, that our best plan will be to 
 staj* where we are till it's all fixed as we want it. We 
 can send on for the paeZre, and bring him here ; or, fail- 
 ing hini, the cur:i. To tell truth, I haven't the slightest 
 idea of where we've come ashore. We ma}* be a good- 
 ish distance from Santiago ; and to go there embargoed 
 as we are, there's a possibility of our being robbed of 
 our pretty baggage on the route. You understand 
 me?" 
 
 " Si — clertamente I " 
 
 " Against risk of that kind, it is necessaiy we should 
 take some precautions. And the first, as also the 
 best I can think of, is to stay here till we're spliced 
 to our sweethearts. Rafael can act as a messenger, 
 or, for that matter, Don Manuel. Either, with six 
 words I shall intrust to him, will be certain to bring 
 back an ecclesiastic having full powers to go through 
 the form of a ceremom\ Then we can march inland 
 without fear, ay, with flying colors ; both Benedicts, 
 our blushing brides on our arms. In Santiago de 
 Veragoa we shall spend our honeymoon.' ' 
 
 ' ' Delightful anticipation ! ' ' 
 
 " Just so. And, for that very reason, we mustn't 
 risk marring it ; which we might, by travelling as 
 simple bachelors. So I say let us get married before 
 going a step farther." 
 
 "But the others? Are the}* to assist at ^ar nup- 
 tials ?" 
 
 -'Certainly not." 
 
 " In what wa}- is it to be avoided?" 
 
 "The simplest in the .world. It's understood that 
 we divide our plunder the first thing in the morning. 
 When that's done, and each has stowed away his share 
 I. intend proposing that we separate, every one to go 
 his own gait." 
 
336 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 " Will they agree to that, think 3*011?" 
 
 * s Of course the}* will. Wiry shouldn't tliey? It's 
 the safest way for all, and the}-'ll see it. Twch t of 
 as trooping together through the country, to say 
 no Mng of having the women along — the story we're 
 to tell about shipwreck might get discredited. When 
 that's made clear to our old shipmates, they'll be con- 
 siderate for their own safet}\ Trust me for making it 
 clear. Of course, we'll keep Padilla and Velarde to 
 act as groomsmen ; so that the 011I3* things wanted will 
 be a brace of bridesmaids." 
 
 " Ha, ha, ha ! " laughs Hernandez. 
 
 "And now to see about our brides. We've not yet 
 proposed to them. We went once to do that, and were 
 disappointed. No danger now." 
 
 "I suppose we may count upon a flat refusal." 
 
 " Flat or sharp, little care I; and it won't signify 
 one way or the other. In three days, or less, I intend 
 calling Carmen Montijo niy wife. But come on ! 1 
 long to la}' hand and heart at her feet." 
 
 Saying which, Gomez strides on towards the grotto, 
 the other after, like two Tarquins about to invade the 
 sleep of innocence. 
 
 Though the cave is in darkness, its occupants are 
 not asleep. To them repose is impossible. They are 
 experiencing the keenest anguish possible to human 
 heart. The}* have passed through its first throes, and 
 are for th 1 time calmer ; but it is the tranquillit}* of 
 despair, of deep deadening grief. They mourn him 
 dcaiost to them dead. They have no doubt that he is 
 so. How could they? While in the boat, the}* heard 
 their captors speak* about the scuttling of the ship, well 
 knowing what was meant. Long since has she gone to 
 the bottom of the sea, with the living, or perhaps onlj 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 337 
 
 their lifeless bodies ; for they may have been murdered 
 before being abandoned. No matter now in what way 
 death came to them. Enough of sadness and horror 
 to think it has come, without speculating on details ; 
 enough for the bereaved ones to know they are bereft. 
 Nor do the} 7 need telling wiry it has all been done. 
 Though hindered from seeing while in the boat, they 
 have heard. Cupidity the cause of the crime, resulting 
 in a conspiracy, a scheme to plunder the ship. Alas, 
 it has succeeded ! 
 
 But all is not yet over. Would that it were ! There 
 ts something still to come, — something they fear to 
 reflect upon, much more speak of to one another. 
 What is to be their- own fate ? They can neither tell 
 nor guess. In their affliction, their thoughts are too 
 distracted for calm or clear reasoning. But, in the 
 midst of vague visions, one assumes a shape too well 
 defined, with darkest shadows filling up the outline. 
 It is the same of which Carmen was speaking when 
 seized. She again returns to it, saying, "Inez, I'm 
 now almost sure we are not in the hands of strangers. 
 What has happened, and those voices we heard, tell 
 me ray suspicions have been correct." 
 
 " Heaven help us, if it be so ! " 
 
 " Yes, Heaven help us! Even from pirates we 
 might have expected some mercy, but none from them. 
 Ay cle mi! what will become of us? " 
 
 The interrogatory is only answered by a sigh. The 
 proud spirit of the Andalusian gu'l, habitually cheerful, 
 is now crushed by a weight of wretchedness enough to 
 steep it in despair. After a time the}' again exchange 
 speech, seeking counsel of one another. Is there no 
 hope, no hand to help, no one to whom tley may turn 
 In this hour of dread ordeal? 
 
838 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 No, not one ! Even the English sailor, in whom 
 they had trusted, has proved untrue ; to all appear- 
 ance, from what they have seen and heard, chief of the 
 traitorous crew. Every human being seems to have 
 abandoned them. Has God ? 
 
 " Let us pray to him ! " says Carmen. 
 
 (( Yes," answers liiez. " He only can help us now." 
 
 The} r kneel side by side on the hard, cold floor of 
 the cavern, and send up their voices in earnest prayer. 
 They first entreat the Holy Virgin that the life of him 
 dear to them may yet be spared, then invoke her pro- 
 tection for themselves, against a danger both dread 
 more than death itself. They pray in trembling ac- 
 cents, but with a fervor eloquent through fear. Sol- 
 emnly pronouncing " Amen ! " they make the sign of 
 the cross. As their hands drop down from the gesture, 
 and while the}' are still in a kneeling attitude, a noise 
 outside succeeds their appeal to Heaven, suddenly 
 recalling them to earthly thoughts and fears. 
 
 They hear voices of men in conversation : at the 
 same time the sail-cloth is pushed aside, and two men 
 press past it into the cave. Soon as entering, one 
 says, t; SeTioritas, we must ask pardon for making our 
 somewhat untimely call, which present circumstances 
 render imperative. It's to be hoped, however, you 
 won't stand upon such stiff ceremony with us as when 
 we had the honor of last paying our respects to you." 
 
 After this singular peroration, the speaker pauses to 
 see what may be the effect of his words. As this can- 
 not be gathered from any reply, — since none is vouch- 
 safed, — he continues, " Doha Carmen Montijo, you 
 and I are old acquaintances, though, it may be, you 
 do not remember my voice. With the found of the 
 sea so long echoing in your ears, it's not strange you 
 
A STOBY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 339 
 
 shou.l not. Perhaps the sense of sight will prove 
 more effectual in recalling an old friend. Let me give 
 } T ou something to assist it." 
 
 Saying this, he holds out a lantern, hitherto con- 
 cealed beneath his cloak. As it lights up the grotto, 
 four figiu es are seen erect ; for the girls have sprung 
 to their feet in apprehension of immediate danger. 
 Upon all, the light shines clear ; and, fronting her, 
 Carmen Montijo sees — too surely recognizing it — the 
 face c f Francisco de Lara ; while in her vis-a-vis Inez 
 Alvarez beholds Faustino Calderon. 
 
 Yes : before them are their scorned suitors, no 
 longer disguised in sailor garb, but resplendent in their 
 Caiifornian costume, — the same worn by them on that 
 day of their degradation, when De Lara rolled in the 
 dust of the Dolores road. 
 
 Now that he has them in his power, his triumph is 
 complete ; and, in strains of exultation he continues, 
 -' So, ladies, we have come together again. No doubt 
 you're a little surprised at our presence, but I hope not 
 annoyed." 
 
 There is no replj* to his taunting speech. 
 
 "Well, if 3*011 won't answer, I shall take it foi 
 granted 3*011 are anno3*ed, besides looking a little 
 alarmed too. You've no need to be that." 
 
 " No, indeed!" indorses Calderon. "We mean 
 you no harm, — none whatever." 
 
 " On the contrary," goes on De Lara, " only good. 
 We've nothing but favors to offer yon." 
 
 -' Don Francisco de Lara," says Carmen, at length 
 breaking silence, and speaking in a tone of piteous 
 expostulate. 1, " and 3'ou, Don Faustino Calderon, why 
 have you committed this crime? What injmy have \u 
 ever done 3 t ou?" 
 
810 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 " Come, not so fast, fair Carmen ! Crime's a harsh 
 word ; and we've not committed any as yet, nothing 
 to speak of." 
 
 " No crime! Santissima! M3 7 father, my poof 
 father!" 
 
 "Don't be uneasj about him. He's safe enough." 
 
 " Safe ! Dead ! Drowned ! " 
 
 " No, no ! That's all nonsense," protests the fiend, 
 adding falsehood to his sin of deeper dye. " Don 
 Gregorio is not where 3-011 say. Instead of being at 
 the sea's bottom, he's sailing upon its surface ; and i3 
 likely to be, for no one knows how long. But let's 
 drop that subject of the past, which seems unpleasant 
 to you, and talk of the present, of ourselves. You 
 ask what injury you've ever done us. Faustino Calde- 
 ron may answer for himself to the fair Inez. To you, 
 Doha Carmen, I shall make reply. But we ma} T as 
 well confer privately." 
 
 At this he la}*s hold of her wrist, and leads her 
 aside ; Calderon conducting Inez in the opposite direc- 
 tion. 
 
 When the whole length of the cavern is between the 
 two pairs, De Lara resumes speech. 
 
 " Yes, Dona Carmen, 3-011 have done me an injury, 
 — a double wrong, I ma} 7 call it." 
 
 "How, s-r?" she asks, releasing her hand from 
 his, and flinging him off with a disdainful gesture 
 
 64 How?" he retorts. " AVhy, in making me love 
 you, by leading me to believe my love returned." 
 
 "You speak falselv : I never did so." 
 
 "You did, Doha Carmen: you did. It is 3'ou who 
 speak false, denying it. That is the first wrong I have 
 to reproach you with. The second is in casting me 
 off as soon as you supposed you'd done with me. Not 
 
A STORY OF THE SOCJTH SEA. 341 
 
 so, aj 3*ou see now. We're together again, novel 
 more to part till I've had satisfaction for every injury 
 received at your hands. I once hinted, and now tell 
 you plainly, you've made a mistake in trifling with 
 Francisco de Lara." 
 
 " I never trifled with you, senor. What means this? 
 Man, ---if 3-011 be a man, — have mercy! Oh! what 
 would 3-011? what would you? " 
 
 "Nothing to call for such distracted entreat}'. On 
 the contrary, I've brought you here — for I'll not deny 
 that it's I who have done it — to grant you favors, 
 instead of asking them, or even satisfying resentments. 
 What I intend towards 3-011, I hope 3-011'H appreciate. 
 To shorten explanations (for which we've neither op- 
 portunity nor time) , I want you for my wife, — want 
 you, and will have 3-011. " 
 
 " Your wife! " 
 
 " Yes, my wife. You needn't look surprise, nor 
 counterfeit feeling it ; and equally idle for 3-ou to make 
 opposition. I've determined upon it. Senorita, 3-011 
 must many me." 
 
 " Many the murderer of nry father! Sooner than 
 do that, 3-011 shall also be mine. Wretch ! I am in 
 3'our power. You can kill me now." 
 
 " I know all that without 3-our telling me. But I 
 don't intend killing 3*011. On the contraiy, I shall take 
 care to keep 3-ou alive until I've tried what sort of a 
 wife 3 t ou'11 make. Should 3*011 prove a good one, and 
 fairly affectionate, we two may lead a happ3* life to- 
 gether, notwithstanding the little unpleasantness that's 
 been between us. If not, and our wedded bondage prov e 
 uncongenial, why, then I ma3' release 3*011 in the way 
 you wish, or an3* other that seems suitable. After the 
 honeymoon, you shall have your choice. Now, Don:) 
 29* 
 
342 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS, 
 
 Carmen ! those are my conditions. I hope you find 
 them fair enough." 
 
 She makes no reply. The proud girl is dumb, partly 
 with indignation, partly from the knowledge that all 
 speech would be idle. But, while angiy to the utmost, 
 she is also afraid, trembling at the alternative pre- 
 sented, — death, or dishonor ; the last, if she many the 
 murderer of her father ; the first, if she refuse him. 
 
 The ruffian repeats his proposal in the same cynical 
 strain, concluding it with a threat. 
 
 She is at length stung to reply, which she does in 
 but two words, twice repeated in wild, despairing 
 accent. They are, " Kill me, kill me!" 
 
 Almost at the same time does Inez answer her cow r - 
 ardly suitor, who, in a corner of the grotto, has alike 
 brought her to bay. 
 
 After the dual response, there is a short interval of 
 silence. Then De Lara, speaking for both, saj-s, — 
 
 " Seiioritas, we shall leave 3*011 now : 3-01 can go to 
 sleep without fear of further solicitation. No doubt, 
 after a night's rest, you'll awake to a more sensible 
 view of matters in general, and the case as it stands. 
 Of one thing be assured, — that there's no chance of 
 your escaping from 3*0111- present captivit3 T , unless by 
 consenting to change your names. And, if you don't 
 consent, they'll be changed all the same. Yes, Carmen 
 Montijo, before another week passes over 3'our head, 
 you shall be addressed as Dona Carmen de Lara." 
 
 " And 3*011, Inez Alverez, will be called Dona Inez 
 Calderon. No need for 3*ou to feel dishonored by a 
 name among the best in Calfornia, — noble as 3*0111 
 own, a3*, or air*/ in Spain." 
 
 " Hasta mcuiana, muchachas!" salutes De Lara. 
 '• Pasan Yos buena rioche!" ("Till morning, ladies 
 good-night !") 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 343 
 
 CalJeron repeating the same formulary of speech, 
 the two step towards the entrance, lift up the piece of 
 suspended sail-cloth, and pass out into the night. 
 The}- take the lantern along with them, again leaving 
 the grotto in darkness. 
 
 The girls grope their way till they touch each other ; 
 then, closing in an agonized embrace, they sink together 
 UDon the floor of the cabin. 
 
 CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 OCE ANWARDS. 
 
 ANOTHER day dawns over the great South Sea. 
 As the golden orb shows above the crest of the 
 Central American Cordillera, its beams scatter wide 
 over the Pacific, as a lamp raised aloft, flashing its 
 light afar. Many degrees of longitude receive instant 
 illumination, at once turning night into day. An ob- 
 server, looking west over that vast wateiy expanse, 
 would see on its shining surface objects that gladdened 
 not the eyes of Balboa. In his day, only the rude In- 
 dian balza, or frail periagua, afraid to venture out, 
 stole timidly along the shore ; but now huge ships, 
 with broad white sails, and at rare intervals the long 
 black hull of a steamer, thick smoke vomited forth 
 from her funnel, may be descried in an offing that 
 extends to the horizon itself. Not alwa}'s can these be 
 seen; for the commerce of the Pacific is slight com- 
 pared with that of the Atlantic, and large shr >s pass* 
 ing along the coast of Veragua are few and far >etweeu, 
 
344 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 On this morning, however, one is observed, and ontj 
 one : she not sailing coastwise, bat standing out towards 
 raid-ocean, as though she had just left the land. 
 
 As the ascending sun dispels the night darkness 
 around her, she can be descried as a white fleck on the 
 blue water, her spread sails seeming no bigger than the 
 wings of a sea-gull. Still, through a telescope — sup- 
 posing it in the hands of a seaman — she may be told 
 to be a craft with polacca masts ; moreover, that the 
 sails on her mizzen are not square-set, but fore-and-aft, 
 proclaiming her a bark. For she is one ; and could 
 the observer, through his glass, make out the lettering 
 upon her stern, he would there read the name, " El 
 Condor." Were he transported aboard of her, unaware 
 of what has happened, it would surprise him to find 
 her decks deserted, not even a man at the wheel, though 
 she is sailing with full canvas spread, even to studding- 
 sails ; no living thing seen anywhere, save two mon- 
 strous creatures covered with rust-colored hair, mock- 
 ing counterfeits of humanity. Equally astonished would 
 he be at finding her forecastle abandoned ; sailors' 
 chests with the lids thrown open, and togs lying loose 
 around them. Xor would it lessen his astonishment 
 to glance into her galley, and there behold a black man 
 sitting upon its bench, who does not so much as rise 
 to receive him ; nor } r et, descending her cabin-stair, 
 1o see a table profusely spread, at either end a guest, 
 alike uncourteous in keeping their seats, on the faces 
 of both an expression of agonized despair. And all 
 this might be seen on board the Chilian vessel on the 
 morning after abandonment by her traitorous and 
 piratical crew. 
 
 A fearful night has it been for the three unfortunate 
 men left in her, more especially the two constrained to 
 
A. STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. S4b 
 
 sit at her cabin-table ; for both have other thoughts, 
 more bitter than confinement, enough to fill the cup of 
 their anguish to the very brim. The} 7 did not 3'ield 
 unresistingly. Even the gentle skipper struggled, 
 stormed, and threatened, till overpowered by brute 
 force, and firmly bound. In like manner had Don 
 Gregorio behaved, till resistance was of no avail, then 
 making appeal to the humanity only of his assailants, 
 to find this alike idle. A dread hour that for the ex- 
 haciendado. Not because of his treasure, the bulk of 
 his fortune, borne off before his eyes, but from the 
 double shriek, which at the instant reached him from 
 the deck, announcing the seizure of that more dear. 
 Carmen and Inez were evidently made captive ; and, 
 from their cries suddenly ceasing, he dreaded some- 
 thing worse. Had they been stifled by death ? Being 
 reminded of an event in Yerba Buena, as also the 
 recognition of the ruffian who taunted him, but made it 
 the more probable that death had been their fate. He 
 almost wished it : he would rather that, than a doom 
 too horrible to think of. 
 
 The first mate? He must have been killed too, 
 butchered while endeavoring to defend them? Tne 
 unsuspicious captain could not think of his chief officer 
 having gone against him ; and how could Don Gregorio 
 believe the man so recommended turning traitor? 
 While they are thus elf aritabrv judging him, the}- receive 
 a crushing response. Just then, to their astonishment, 
 they hear his voice among the mutineers, not in expos- 
 tulation, or opposed, but as if taking part with them. 
 One Striker is calling out his name, to which he 
 answers ; and, soon after, other speeches from his lips 
 sound clear through the cabin-windows, open on that 
 mild moonlit night. Still listening, as they gazt in 
 
316 THE FLAG OF DISTKESS. 
 
 one another's face with mute, painful surprise, the} 
 hear a dull thud against the ship's side, — the stroke of 
 a boat-hook as the pinnace is shoved off, — then a rattle, 
 as the oars commence working in the tholes, succeeded 
 by the plash of the oar-blades in the water; after 
 that, the regular " dip-dip," at length dying away as 
 the boat recedes, leaving the abandoned vessel silent 
 as a graveyard in the mid-hour of night. 
 
 Seated with face towards the cuddy windows, Don 
 Gregorio can see through them ; and as the bark's bow 
 rises on the swell, depressing her aft, he commands a 
 view of the sea far astern. 
 
 There upon the surface he makes out a dark object 
 moving away. It is a boat filled with forms, ths oar- 
 blades rising and falling in measured stroke, flashing 
 the phosphorescence on both sides. No wonder at his 
 earnest look as he bends his e}*es on that boat, — a gaze 
 of concentrated anguish. It contains all that is dear 
 to him, bearing that all away, he knows not whither, 
 to a fate which chills his very blood to reflect upon. 
 He can trace the outlines of land be3*ond, and can per- 
 ceive that the boat is being rowed for it ; the bark at 
 the same time sailing seaward, each instant widening 
 the distance between them. But for a long while he 
 can distinguish the black speck with luminous jets on 
 either side, as the oar-blades intermittently rise and fall 
 in the clear moonlight, till at length, entering within the 
 shadow of the land, a line of high cliffs, he loses sight 
 cf it. 
 
 "Gone, ail gone! " groans the bereaved father, his 
 board drooping down to his breast, his countenance 
 showing he has surrendered up his soul to a despair 
 hopeless as helpless. So, too, Lantanas, who has 
 ceased struggling and shouting. Both are now alike 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTil SEA. 347 
 
 convinced of the idleness of such demonstrations. The 
 chief offictr a mutineer, so must all the others ; and all 
 have forsaken the ship. No, not all. There is one 
 remains true, who is still on her, — the black cook. 
 They hear his voice, though not with any hope. It 
 comes from a distant part in shouts and cries betoken- 
 ing distress. They need look for no help from him. 
 He is either disabled, or, like themselves, securely 
 bound. Throughout the night they hear it ; the inter- 
 vals between becoming longer, the voice fainter, till 
 he, also, yielding to despair, is silent. 
 
 As the morning sun shines in through the stern win- 
 dows, Don Gregorio can see they are out of sight of 
 land. Only sea and sl%y are visible to him ; but neither 
 to Lantanas, whose face is the other way, so fastened 
 he cannot even turn his head. The bark is scudding 
 before a breeze, which bears her still farther into the 
 great South Sea, on whose broad bosom she might beat 
 for weeks, months, ay, till her timbers rot, without 
 sighting ship, or being herself descried by human eye. 
 Fearful thought, appalling prospect, to those con- 
 strained to sit at her cabin table ! With it in their 
 minds, the morning light brings no jo} 7 . Instead, it 
 but intensifies their misery ; for they are now sure 
 they have no chance of being rescued. They sit hag- 
 gard in their chairs, — for no sleep has visited the ej-es 
 of either, — like men who have been all night long en- 
 gaged in a drunken debauch. Alas, how different ! 
 The glasses of wine before them are no longer touched, 
 the fruits untasted. Neither the bouquet of the one 
 nor the perfume of the other, has any attraction fur 
 them now. Either is as much beyond their reach as 
 if a thousand miles off, instead of on a six-foot table 
 between them. Gazing in one another's faces, they ai 
 
348 THE FLAG X)F DISTRESS. 
 
 times fancy it a dream. They can scarcely bring them- 
 selves to realize such a situation ; as who could ? The 
 rude intrusion of the ruffian crew, the rough handling 
 they have had, the breaking open of the lockers, and 
 the boxes of gold borne off, all seem the phantasma- 
 goria of some fleeting but horrible vision 
 
 CHAPTER XLVI. 
 
 AN AWKWARD QUESTION. 
 
 THE same sun that shines upon the abandoned 
 bark lights up the crew that abandoned her, on 
 the same spot where the^y have made landing. As the 
 first rays fall over the cliffs crest, they show a cove of 
 semicircular shape, backed b} 7 a beetling precipice. 
 A ledge or dike, sea-washed and weed-covered, trends 
 across its entrance, with a gate-like opening in the 
 centre, through which at high tide the sea sweeps in, 
 though never quite up to the base of the cliff. Between 
 this and the strand lies the elevated platform already 
 spoken of, accessible from above by a sloping ravine, 
 the bed of a stream, running only when it rains. As 
 said, it is only an acre or so in extent, and occupying 
 the inner concavity of the semicircle. The beach is 
 not visible from it, this concealed b}^ the dry reef which 
 runs across it as a cord. Only a small portion of it 
 can be seen through the portal which admits the tidal 
 flow , Be3 T ond, stretches the open sea outside the siuf 
 with the breakers more than a mile off. ' 
 Such is the topography of the place where the muti- 
 
A STORY OP THE SOUTH SEA. 349 
 
 neers have made landing, and passed the night. When 
 the day dawns, but little is seen to betraj" their presence 
 there.— only a man seated upon a stone, nodding as if 
 asleep, at intervals awakening with a start, and grasp- 
 ing ac a gun between his legs ; soon letting it go, and 
 again giving way to slumber, the effects of that drunken 
 debauch kept up to a late hour of the night. He would 
 be a poor sentinel, were there need for vigilance. Seem- 
 ingly there is none. No enemy is near, no human 
 being in sight ; the onl}' animate objects some sea-birds, 
 that, winging their way along the face of the cliff, 
 salute him with an occasional scream, as if incensed by 
 his presence in a spot they deem sacred to themselves. 
 
 The sun fairly up, he rises to his feet, and walks 
 towards the entrance of the larger cavern ; then, stop- 
 ping in front of it, cries out, — 
 
 " Inside there, shipmates ! Sun's up: time to be 
 stirring! " 
 
 Seeing him in motion, and hearing his hail, the gulls 
 gather and swoop around his head in continuous scream- 
 ing ; in larger numbers, and with cries more stridulent, 
 as his comrades come forth out of the cave, one after 
 another, yawning, and stretching their arms. 
 
 The first, looking seaward, proposes to refresh him- 
 self b} T a plunge in the surf, and for this purpose starts 
 toward the beach. The others, taken with the idea, 
 follow in twos and threes, till, in a string, all are in 
 motion. To reach the strand, it is necessary for them 
 to pass through the gap in the transverse ledge ; which 
 the tide, now at ebb, enables them to do. He who 
 leads having gone through it, on getting a view of the 
 shore outside, suddenly stops, as he does so, sending 
 back a shout. It is a cry of surprise, followed by the 
 startling announcement, " The boat's gone ! " 
 30 
 
850 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 This should cause them apprehension, an. I would if 
 they but knew the consequences. Ignorant of these, 
 they make light of it ; one saying, " Let her go, then ' 
 W< want no boats now." 
 
 " A horse would be more to our purpose," suggest? 
 a second, " or, for that matter, a dozen of them." 
 
 " A dozen donkeys would do," adds a third, accom- 
 panying his remark with a horse-laugh. " It'll take 
 about that man}" to pack our chattels." 
 
 " What's become of the old pinnace, anyhow? " ask? 
 one in sober strain, as, having passed through the rock- 
 portal, the} 7 stand scanning the strand. All remember 
 the place where they landed, and left the boat. They 
 see it is not there. 
 
 ' ' Has any one made awa}- with it ? " 
 
 The question is asked, and instantly answered, several 
 saying, No. Striker, the man who first missed it, 
 vouchsafes the explanation. 
 
 " The return tide's taken it out, an', I darsa} 7 , it's 
 broke to bits on them theer breakers." 
 
 All now remember that it was not properly moored, 
 but left with painter loose, and do not wonder it went 
 adrift. The} 7 care little, indeed nothing, and think of 
 it no longer, but, stripping, plunge into the surf. 
 After bathing to their hearts' content, the} 7 return to 
 the cavern, and array themselves in garments befitted 
 to the life they intend leading. Their tarry togs are 
 cast off, to be altogether abandoned ; for each has a 
 suit of shore-clothes, brought away from the bark. 
 
 Every one rigged out in his own peculiar style, they 
 draw together to deliberate on a plan of future action. 
 Breakfast has been already eaten ; and now cornea 
 the matter of greatest moment, — the partition of the 
 woils. 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 351 
 
 It is done in little time, and with no great trouble. 
 The boxes are broken open, and the gold-dust measured 
 out in a pannikin ; a like number of measures appor- 
 tioned to each, round and round. 
 
 In monej T value no one knows the exact amount of 
 his share ; enough satisfaction to feel it is nigh as 
 much as he can carry. 
 
 After each has appropriated his own, the3 r commence 
 packing up, and preparing for the inland journey. 
 And now arises the question, What wa} r are they to go ? 
 The}- have already resolved to strike for the city of 
 Santiago ; but in what order should they travel ? — 
 separate into several parties, or go all together? The 
 former plan, proposed by Gomez, is supported by 
 Paclilla, Hernandez, and Velarde. Gomez gives his 
 reason. Such a large number of pedestrians along 
 roads where none save horsemen are ever seen could 
 not fail to excite curiosity. It might cause incon- 
 venient questions to be asked them, perhaps lead to 
 their being arrested, and taken before some village 
 alcaide. If so, what story could they tell ? 
 
 On the other hand, there will be the chance of com- 
 ing across Indians ; and as those on the Veraguan 
 coast are ranked among the " bravos," — having pre- 
 served their independence, and, along with it, their 
 instinctive hostility to the whites, — an encounter with 
 them might be even more dangerous than with anj T 
 alcalde. Struggling along in squads of two or three, 
 they would run a risk of getting captured, or killed and 
 scalped, perhaps all three. 
 
 This is the suggestion of Harry Blew ; Striker tjid 
 Davis alone favoring his view. All the others go 
 against it ; Gomez ridiculing the idea of danger from 
 red men, at the same time enlarging on that to be 
 
352 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 apprehended from white ones. As the majority Lav*, 
 more reason to fear civilized man than the so-called 
 savage, it ends in their deciding for separation. They 
 can come together again in Santiago, if they choose it ; 
 or not, should chance for good or ill so determine. 
 They are all amply provided for playing an independen.1 
 part in the drama of their future lives ; and, with thia 
 pleasant prospect, they may part company without a 
 sigh of regret. 
 
 Ah! something yet, still another question to be 
 determined. The female captives : how are they to be 
 disposed of? They are still within the grotto, unseen, 
 as the sail-cloth curtains it. Breakfast has been taken 
 to them, which they have scarce touched ; and the time 
 has come for deciding what has to be done with them. 
 No one openly asks, or says a word upon the subject, 
 though it is uppermost in the thoughts of all. It is a 
 delicate question ; and they are shy of broaching it. 
 There is a sort of tacit impression there will be diffi- 
 culty about the appropriation of this portion of the 
 spoils, — an electricity in the air that foretells dispute 
 and danger. All along it had been understood that 
 two men laid claim to them ; their claim, whether just 
 or not, hitherto unquestioned, or, at all events, uncon- 
 tested — these, Gomez and Hernandez. As the}' had 
 been ine original designers of -the foul deed now done, 
 their confederates, rough men of a different stamp, 
 little given to love-making, had either not thought 
 about the women, or deemed their possession of secon- 
 dary importance. But now, at the eleventh hour, it 
 has become known that two others intend asserting a 
 claim to them, — one being Blew, the other Davis. 
 
 The mode of making their journe}- having been defin- 
 *£h T ely settled, there is a short interregnum, during 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 353 
 
 nrhich most of those ready for the road stand idling, 
 one or two, still occupied in equipping themselves. Lk 
 Crosse has been sent up the ravine to report how 
 things look inland. The four Spaniards have signified 
 their intention to remain a little longer on the ground ; 
 while the three Englishmen have not said when thej 
 will leave. They are together, conferring in low voice, 
 but with an earnestness in their eyes, especially Blew' s, 
 which makes it easy to guess the subject. Only the 
 theme of woman could kindle these fiery glances. 
 
 At length the dreaded interrogatory is put; and 
 Gomez answers, "They'll, of course, go with us, — 
 with Senor Hernandez and myself." 
 
 "I don't see any of course about it,'' says Blew. 
 "And, more'n that, I tell ye they don't go with ye: 
 leastwise, not so cheap as you think for." 
 
 "What do you mean, Mr. Blew?" demands the 
 Spaniard, his eyes showing anger, at the same time a 
 certain uneasiness. 
 
 " No .use yourlosin' temper, Gil Gomez. You ain't 
 goin' to scare me : so 3*011 may as well keep cool. By 
 doin' that, and listenin', 3'ou'll larn what I mean ; the 
 which is, that you and Hernandez have no more right 
 to them creeturs in the cave than any o' the rest of us. 
 Just as the gold, so ought it to be wi' the girls. In 
 coorse, we can't divide them all round, but that's no 
 reason why any two should take em, so long's any 
 other two wants 'em as well. Now, /wants one o' 
 them." 
 
 " And I another," puts in Davis. 
 
 "Yes," continues Blew; "and though I be a bit 
 older than you, Mr. Gomez, and not quite so preten- 
 tious a gentleman, I can like a pretty wench as well as 
 yersr.lf. I've took a fancy to the one wi' the tortoise- 
 so* 
 
354 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 shell hair, an' an't goin' to gie her up in the slack wa.y 
 >ou seem to be wishin'." 
 
 " Glad to hear it's the red one, Blew," says Davis. 
 - As I'm for the black one, there's no rivalry between 
 u« Her I mean to be mine — unless some better man 
 hinders me." 
 
 "Well," interpolates Striker, " as 'twas me first 
 put the questyun, I s'pose I'll be allowed to gie an 
 opeenyun?" No one saying na}', the ex-convict pro- 
 ceeds, "As to any one hevin' a speecial claim to them 
 weemen, nobody has, an' nobocly shed have. 'Bout 
 that, Blew's right, an' so's Bill. An,' since the thing'? 
 disputed, it oughter be settled in a fair an' square " — 
 
 "You needn't waste your breath," interrupts Go- 
 mez, in a tone of determination. "I admit no dis- 
 pute in the matter. If these gentlemen insist, there's 
 but one way of settling. First, however, I'll say a 
 word to explain. One of these ladies is my sweet- 
 heart — was before I ever saw an}' of 3*ou. Sehor 
 Hernandez here can say the same of the other. Na} T , 
 I ma} r tell 3*011 more : they are pledged to us." 
 
 " It's a lie ! " cries Blew, confronting the slanderer, 
 and looking him straight in the face. "A lie, Gil 
 Gomez, from the bottom o' your black heart ! " 
 
 " Enough ! " exclaims Gomez, now purple with rage. 
 " No man can give Frank Lara the lie, and live after." 
 
 " Frank Lara, or whatever you maj r call 3-erself, I'll 
 iive long enough to see 3*011 under ground, or, what's 
 more like, hangin' wi' 3-uur throat in a halter. Don't 
 make airy mistake about me. I can shoot straight as 
 
 you." 
 
 " Avast, theer! " shouts Striker to De Lara, seeing 
 the latter about to iraw a pistol. " Keep 3-er hand olf 
 o' that ^repun ! If theer must be a fight, let it be a 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 3SL 
 
 fair one. Bat, before it begin, Jack Striker has a word 
 to sa}\" 
 
 While speaking, he has stepped between the two 
 men, stajing their encounter. 
 
 " Yes, let the fight be a fair one ! " demand several 
 voices, as the pirates come clustering around. 
 
 "Look here, shipmates !" continues Striker, still 
 standing between the two angry men, and alternately 
 eying them. "What's the use o' spillin' blood about 
 it, maybe killin' one the other? All for the sake o* 
 a pair o' stoopid girls, or a kupple o' pairs, as it be ! 
 Take my advice, an' settle the thing in a pacifical way. 
 Maybe ye will, after ye've heerd what I intend pro- 
 posal' ; which I darsay'll be satisfactory to all." 
 
 " What is it, Jack? " asks one of the outsiders. 
 
 " First, then, I'm agoin' to make the observashun, 
 that fightin' an't the way to get them weeinen, who- 
 ever' s fools enough to fight for 'em. Theer's some thin* 
 to be done besides." 
 
 " Explain yourself, old Sydney ! What's to be done 
 besides ? ' ' 
 
 " If the gals are goin' to be fought for, they've first 
 got to be paid for." 
 
 "How that?" 
 
 " How? What humbuggin' stuff askin' such a ques- 
 tyin ! Han't we all equil shares in 'em? Coorse we 
 have ! Tharfor, them as wants 'em must paj^for 'em ; 
 an' they as wants 'em so bad as to do shootin' for 'em 
 sorely won't objeck to that. Theer appear to be four 
 candydates in the field ; an', kewrous enuf, the3 r 're set 
 in pairs, — two for each one o' the girls. Now, 'ithout 
 refarin' to anj r fightin' that's to be done, — an', if 
 they're fools enuf to fight, let 'em, — I say that ej'thef 
 *vho eevent}-ally gits a gal shed pay a considerashin 
 
356 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 o' gold-dust all roim' to the rest o' us ; at the least a 
 paunikin apiece. That's what Jack Striker propose* 
 first." 
 
 "It's fair," says Slush. 
 
 "Nothing more than our rights," observes Tarry; 
 the Dane and Dutchman also indorsing the proposal. 
 
 " I agree to it," says Harry Blew. 
 
 "I also," adds Davis. 
 
 De Lara — late Gomez — signifies his assent by a 
 disdainful nod, but without saying a word ; Hernandez 
 imitating the action. In fear of losing adherents, 
 neither dares disapprove of it. 
 
 "What more have you to say, Jack? " asks Slush, 
 recalling Striker's last words, which seemed to promise 
 something else. 
 
 " Not much. Only thet I think it a pity, after our 
 livin' so long in harmony thegither, we can't part same 
 way. Weemen's allers been a bother ever since I've 
 knowd 'em. An' I s'pose it'll continue so to the eend 
 o' the chapter, an' the eend o' some lives heer. I re- 
 peet, thet it be a pity we shed hev to wind up wi' a 
 quarrel wheer blood's bound to be spilt. Now, why 
 can't it be settled 'ithout thet? I think I know of a 
 way." 
 
 "What way?" 
 
 "Leave it to the ladies theirselves. Gie them the 
 chance o' who they'd like for a protector ; same time 
 le f tin' 'em know they've got to choose 'tween one or 
 (other. Let 'em take theer pick, everybody unner- 
 standin' afterwards theer' s to be no quarrelin' or 
 fightin'. That's our law in the Australyin bush, when 
 we've cases o' this kind ; an' every bushranger nes to 
 bide by it. Why shedn't it be the same heer? " 
 
 "Why shouldn't it?" asks Slush. "It's a sood 
 law, just and fair for all." 
 
 = 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 357 
 
 "I consent to it," says Blew, with apparent reluc- 
 tance, as if doubtful of the result, yet satisfied to sub- 
 mit to the will of the majority. " I mayen't be neyther 
 so young nor so good lookin' as Mr. Gomez," he adds : 
 " I know I an't eyther. Still I'll take 1x13' chance. If 
 she I lay claim to pronounces against me, I promise 
 to stand aside, and say neer another word, much less 
 think o' fightin' for her. She can go 'long wi'' him, 
 an' my blessin' wf both." 
 
 "Bravo, Blew! You talk like a good un. Don't 
 be afraid : we'll stand by }~ou." 
 
 This, from several of the outsiders. 
 
 " Comrades, " sa^-s Davis, " I place myself in your 
 hands. If my girl's against me, I'm willin' to give 
 her up, same as Blew." 
 
 What about the other two ? What answer will they 
 make to the proposed peaceful compromise ? All eyes 
 are turned on them, awaiting it. 
 
 De Lara speaks first, his e}-es flashing fire. Hitherto 
 he has been holding his anger in check ; but now it 
 breaks out, poured forth like lava from a burning moun- 
 tain. "Carajo! " he cries. "I've been listening a 
 long time to talk, taking it too coolly. Idle talk all 
 of it, yours, Mr. Striker, especially. What care we 
 about your wa}'s in the Australian bush. They won't 
 hold good here, or with me. My style of settling dis- 
 putes is this, or this." He touches his pistol-butt, 
 and then the hilt of a machete, hanging b}* Ms side, 
 adding, " Mr. Blew can have his choice." 
 
 "All right!" retorts the ex-man-o'-war's-nian. 
 • ft I'm good for a bout with either, and don't care a toss 
 which, — pistols at six paces, or my cutlass against that 
 straight blade of yours. Both, if you like." 
 
 " Both be it. That s best, and will make the end 
 
358 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 sure. Get ready, and quick; for, as sure as I stand 
 here, I intend fighting you ! " 
 
 " Say you intend tiyin'. I'm readj to give you the 
 chance. You can begin soon's you feel disposed.'' 
 
 Hernandez hangs back, as though he would rather 
 decline the combat. 
 
 " No, Bill!" sa} T s Striker; "one fight at a time, 
 Whon Blew an' Gomez hev got through wi' theirs, then 
 y(yi can gie Hernandez his chance — if so be he care 
 to hev it." 
 
 Hernandez appears gratified with Striker's speech, 
 disregarding the innuendo. He had no thought it 
 would come to this, and looks as if he would surrender 
 up his sweetheart without striking a blow. He makes 
 no rejoinder, but shrinks back co wed-like and craven. 
 
 44 Yes, one fight at a time!" cry others, indorsing 
 the dictum of Striker. 
 
 It is the demand of the majority ; and the minority 
 concedes it. All know it is to be a duel to the death. 
 A glance at the antagonists, at their angry C3'es and 
 determined attitudes, makes this sure On that lonely 
 shore one of the two will sleep his last sleep : it may 
 be both. 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 859 
 
 CHAPTER XLVH. 
 
 A DUEL ADJOURNED. 
 
 THE combat now declared inevitable, its prelimi- 
 naries are speedily arranged. Under the circum- 
 stances, and between such adversaries, the punctilios 
 of ceremony to be satisfied are slight ; for theirs is the 
 rough code of honor common to robbers of all coun- 
 tries and climes. No seconds are chosen, nor spoken 
 of. All on the ground are to act as such, and at once 
 proceed to business. 
 
 Some measure off the distance, stepping it between 
 two stones. Others examine the pistols to see that 
 both are loaded with ball-cartridge, and carefully 
 capped. The fight is to be with Colt's six-shooters, 
 na\y size. Each combatant chances to have one of 
 this particular pattern. They are to commence firing 
 at twelve paces, and, if that be ineffectual, then close 
 up, as either chooses. If neither falls to the shots, then 
 to finish with the steel. 
 
 The captives inside the cave are ignorant of what ia 
 going on. Little dream the} T of the red tragedy soon 
 to be enacted so near, or how much the}' themselves 
 may be affected by its finale. It is indeed to them the 
 chances of a contrasting destiny. 
 
 The duellists take stand by the stones, twelve paces 
 apart. Blew, having stripped off his pilot-cloth coat, 
 is in his shirt-sleeves. These, rolled up to the elbow, 
 expose ranges of tattooing, fouled anchors, stars, cres- 
 
360 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 cents, and sweethearts, — a perfect medley of fore- 
 castle souvenirs. They show also muscles lying along 
 his arms like cording upon a ship's stay. Should the 
 shots fail, those arms promise well for wielding the 
 cutlass; and, if his fingers clutch his antagonist's 
 throat, the struggle will be a short one. 
 
 Still no weak adversary will he meet in Francisco 
 de Lara. He, too, has laid aside his outer garments*, 
 thrown off his scarlet cloak and the heavy hat. He 
 does not need stripping to the shirt-sleeves : his light 
 jaqueta of velveteen in no way encumbers him. Fit- 
 ting like a glove, it displays arras of muscular strength, 
 with a body in s} T mmetrical correspondence. 
 
 A duel between two such gladiators might be pain- 
 ful, but, for all, a fearfully interesting spectacle. Those 
 about to witness it seem to think so, as they stand 
 silent, with breath bated, and glances bent alternately 
 on one and the other. 
 
 As it has been arranged that Striker is to give the 
 signal, the ex-convict, standing centrally outside the 
 line of fire, is about to saj T a word that will set two 
 men, mad as tigers, at one another, each with full 
 resolve to fire, cut down, and kill. 
 
 There is a moment of intense stillness, like the lull 
 which precedes a storm ; nothing heard save the tidal 
 wash against the near strand, the boom of the distant 
 breakers, and at intervals the shrill scream of a sea-bird. 
 
 The customary "Ready" is forming on Striker's 
 lips, to be followed by the " Fire ! One, two, three ! "" 
 No one of these words, not a S3 T llable, is he permitted 
 to speak. Before he can give utterance to the first, a 
 cry comes down from the cliff, which arrests the atten- 
 tion of all, soon as understood, enchaining it. 
 
 It is La Crosse who sends it, shouting in accents of 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. o63 
 
 alarm, *' Monsieur Blew! Comrades! We're on an 
 island ! ' ' 
 
 When the forest is on fire, or the savanna swept by 
 flood, and their wild denizens flee to a spot uninvaded, 
 the timid deer is safe beside the fierce wolf or treacher- 
 ous cougar : in face of the common danger, they will 
 stand trembling together ; the beasts of prey, for the 
 time, gentle as their victims. So with human kind ; a 
 parallel being furnished by the pirate crew of the 
 " Condor," and their captives. 
 
 The former, on hearing the cry of La Crosse, are at 
 first only startled. Soon their surprise changes to ap- 
 prehension, keen enough to stay the threatening fight, 
 and indefinitely postpone it. For at the words, "We're 
 on an island," the}* are impressed with an instinctive 
 sense of danger ; and all, combatants as spectators, 
 rush up the ravine to the summit of the cliff, where La 
 Crosse is still standing. 
 
 Arrived there, and casting their eyes inland, they 
 have evidence of the truth of his assertion. A strait, 
 leagues in width, separates them from the mainland, 
 far too wide to be crossed by the strongest swimmer 
 amongst them, too wide for them to be descried from 
 the opposite side, even through a telescope. The island 
 on which they have beached their boat is a mere strip 
 of sea-washed rock, running parallel to the coast, cliff- 
 bound, table-topped, sterile, treeless, and to all appear- 
 ance waterless. 
 
 As this last thought comes uppermost, along with 
 the recollection that their boat is lost, what was at first 
 only a flurry of excited apprehension becomes a fixed 
 fear, still further intensified, when, after scattering 
 over the islet, and exploring it from end to end, they 
 again come together, and each party delivers its report . 
 
 31 
 
362 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 No wood, save some stunted bushes ; no water, — 
 stream, pond, or spring, — only that of the salt sea rip* 
 pling around ; no sign of animal life, except snakes, 
 scorpions, and lizards, with the birds flying above, 
 screaming, as if in triumph at the intruders upon their 
 domain being thus entrapped ; for they are so, and 
 clearly comprehend it. Most of them are men who 
 have professionally followed the sea, and understand 
 what it is to be " castaways." Some have had experi- 
 ence of it in their time, and need no reminding of its 
 dangers. To a man, they feel their safety as much 
 compromised as if the spot of earth under their feet, 
 instead of being but three leagues from land (for such 
 it seems) , were three thousand ; for that matter, in the 
 middle of the Pacific itself. What would they not now 
 give to be again on board the bark sent sailing thither 
 to miserably sink ! Ah ! their cruelty ha*s come back 
 upon them like a curse. 
 
 The interrupted duel — what of it? Nothing. It is 
 not likely ever to be fought. Between the ci-devant 
 combatants, mad anger and jealous rivalry ma\ r still 
 remain ; but neither shows it now, both subdued in 
 contemplation of the common peril ; Blew apparently 
 less affected than his antagonist. But all are fright- 
 ened, — awed by a combination of occurrences that 
 look as though an avenging angel had been sent to 
 punish them for their crimes. 
 
 From that moment Carmen Montijo and Inez Alvarez 
 are safe in their midst as if promenading the streets of 
 Cadi?, or flirting their fans at the successful matador, — 
 safe as far as being molested by the ruffians around 
 them, 3 T et, alas ! exposed to the danger overhanging 
 all, — death from starvation. 
 
 But surely some means will be discovered to escape 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 363 
 
 from the island? or, remaining upon it, a way to sus- 
 tain life ? Questions asked, and hopes indulged in, that, 
 as the days pass, prove delusive. Not a stick of tim- 
 ber out of which to construct a raft ; nothing for food, 
 save reptiles on the land, and shell-fish in the sea, these 
 scarce, and difficult of collection. Now and then a 
 bird, its flesh ill favored and rank. But the want 
 above all — water. For days, not a drop is obtained, 
 till their throats feel as if on fire. Plenty of it around, 
 too much. But it is as with Tantalus. The briny 
 deep the} r ma}- touch, but not taste. It makes them 
 mad to gaze on it : to drink of it would but madden 
 them the more. 
 
 A fearful fate now threatens the crew of the u Con- 
 dor," in horror, equalling that to which those left 
 aboard of her have been consigned. "Well may they 
 deem it a retribution, that God's hand is upon them, 
 meting out a punishment apportioned to their crime. 
 But surely he will not permit the innocent to suffer 
 with the guilty. Let us hope, pray, he will not. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVin. 
 
 LONG SUFFERING, 
 
 SEVERAL days have elapsed since the desertion of 
 her crew; and the " Condor" is still afloat, sail- 
 ing in a south-westerly direction, with full canvas set, 
 just as when the pirates put away from her. Why she 
 has not gone to the bottom is known but to two men, — 
 they ntrusted with the scuttling. And just as whes 
 
864 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 left are the three unfortunate beings aboard, —the blacX 
 cook on his ga'ley-bench, the captain and his passenger 
 vis-a-vis, bound at the cabin-table, upright in ':heir 
 chairs. But, though their attitudes are unchanged, 
 there is a marked change in their appearance, especial- 
 ly those who occupy the cabin ; for the white man 
 shows the effect of physical suffering sooner than the 
 Ethiopian. For long days they have been enduring 
 agony great as ever tortured Tantalus. It has made 
 fearful inroad on their strength, on their frames. Both 
 are reduced almost to skeletons, cheek-bones protrud- 
 ing, eyes sunken in their sockets. Were the cords 
 that confine them suddenly taken off, they would sink 
 helpless to the floor. 
 
 Not all this time have the}' been silent. At intervals 
 the} 7 have conversed upon their desperate situation, 
 for the first day with some lingering hope of being 
 released, but afterwards despairingly, as the hours 
 pass, and nothing occurs to alter it. Now and then 
 they have heard cries on deck, knowing the}' are from 
 the cook, whom they now feel sure is, like themselves, 
 fast bound in the forward part of the vessel. At first 
 they answered them, till finding it an idle effort ; and 
 now their feeble strength forbids even the exertion of 
 their voices. 
 
 Long since have the two men given up making 
 attempts to i ntie themselves : now they have also 
 ? eased to converse, or only at periods long apart. Lan- 
 tanas, after his first throes of fierce rage, has sunk into 
 a sort of stupor, and, with head drooping down to his 
 breast, appears as if Lfe had left him. Don Gregorio, 
 on the contrary, holds his erect ; at least during most 
 part of the day, for before him is something to be 
 Been, — the sea through the stern windows, still open 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 36S 
 
 He keeps his eyes bent on it aabitually, though not 
 with much hope of there seeing aught tc cheer him. 
 On its blue expanse he beholds but a streak of white, 
 the frothing water in the vessel's wake, now and then a 
 " school " of tumbling porpoises, or the " spout " of a 
 cachalot whale. Once, however, an object cnnes 
 within his field of vision, which causes him to start, 
 writhe in his ropes, and cry out to the utmost of his 
 strength ; for it is a ship in full sail, crossing the u Con- 
 dor's " track, and scarce a cable's length astern. He 
 hears a hail, and calls out in response, Lantanas join- 
 ing him. And the two keep shouting for hours after, 
 till their feeble voices fail them ; and they again resign 
 themselves to a despondency hopeless as ever. All 
 their shouts have brought them are the Bornean apes, 
 that are heard scampering up and down the cabin-stair, 
 dashing their uncouth bodies against the closed door. 
 
 The Chilian has long ago surrendered to despair; 
 while Don Gregorio, who has also lost hope of help 
 from man, still has faith in Heaven. With unabated 
 fervor, he entreats for mercy from above ; and, as he 
 does so, the Chilian captain gives wa} T to a parox3'sm 
 of frenzy, raving as he bewails his unhappy fate. For 
 long he continues to rave. Don Gregorio makes no 
 effort to hold converse with him. The sight is suffi- 
 cient^ painful, suggestive of what ma} T be his own 
 fate, as sweeps through his soul the thought of his 
 accumulated calamities. He wishes that death would 
 relieve him, and has prayed for it more than once. He 
 pra}'s for it again, silently, with his ej-es resting on the 
 sea. He awaits the final hour, longing for it to come, 
 his features set in calm, Christian resignation. 
 
 Suddenly their expression changes, a ray of renewed 
 hope shooting athwart his face. Not a ra}-, but a beum, 
 31* 
 
366 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 which spreads over his whole countenance, while his 
 eyes kindle into cheerfulness, and his l'ps seem paitcu* 
 in a smile. Is he about to echo the mad laugh of Lau* 
 tanas? 
 
 No ! In that look there is no sign of unseated rca 
 son. On the contrary, he gazes with intelligent 
 earnestness, as at something outside demanding inves- 
 tigation. Soon his lips part farther, not to smile, but 
 speak words that involuntarily issue from them. Only 
 two little words, but of large import and greatest cheer, 
 "A sail!" 
 
 For such he has espied, — a white speck, away off on 
 the line that separates the two blues, but distinguisha- 
 ble from waif of floating foam, or wing of gull. Be- 
 j'ond doubt, a sail — a ship! Once more hope is in 
 his heart, which, bounding up, beats audibly within his 
 breast, higher and louder, as the white speck shows 
 larger, assuming shape ; for the tall, narrow disk, 
 rising tower-like against the sky, can only be the spread 
 canvas of a ship. And, gradually growing taller, he at 
 length can tell she is standing towards the bark. 
 Intently he continues to watch the distant sail ; si- 
 lently, without saying aught of it to his companion, or 
 in any wa} r communicating with him. It would be use- 
 less now : the mind of the Chilian is closed against 
 outward things ; and it is not the time to open it. 
 
 Hopefully Don Gregorio keeps gazing, yet not with- 
 out anxiety. Once before has he had disappointment 
 from a similar sight : it ma} 7 be so again. But, no. 
 That ship was standing across the " Condors " track ; 
 while this is sailing in the same course, sailing after, 
 apparent^ with the intention to come up ; and, though 
 slowly, surety drawing nearer, as he can tell b} r the 
 canvas increasing in bulk, growing broader, and loom 
 ing higher. 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA.' 367 
 
 A long time, however, elapses, — nearly half a day, 
 — during which he has many hopes and fears, alternat- 
 ing as the hours pass But the former are at length 
 in the ascendant ; and all anxiety passes as the pursu- 
 ing ship shows her dark hull above the water-line, and 
 he can distinguish her separate sails. They are all 
 set. What joy in his heart as his e}-es rest on them ! 
 The}' seem the wings of merciful angels, coming to 
 relieve him from his miseiy. And that flag floating 
 above, — the flag of England ! Were it the banner of 
 his own Spair, he could not regard it with greater 
 gladness or gratitude ; for surely he will be saved 
 now. Alas ! while thus congratulating himself, he sees 
 that which causes his heart again to sink within him, 
 bringing back keenest apprehensions. The strange 
 vessel is still a far way behind ; and the breeze impell- 
 ing her, light all along, has suddenly died down, not 
 a ripple showing on the sea's surface, while her sails 
 now hang loose and limp. Beyond doubt is she be- 
 calmed. 
 
 But the "Condor?" Will she, too, cease sailing? 
 Yes, she must, from the same cause. Already she 
 moves slowly, scarce making way. And now — now she 
 is motionless. The glass rack and lamps overhead hang 
 stead)*, without the slightest oscillation. But the bark 
 graduall}' swings round ; and he loses sight of the ship. 
 Through the windows he still beholds the sea, calm and 
 blue, but vacant ; no outline of hull, no expanded 
 sails, no flouting flag to keep up his heart, which for 
 a while is down, almost despondent. But only for a 
 short time, again rising as the bark, sheering round, 
 brings once more stern towards the ship, and he sees 
 the latter, and something besides, — a boat ! It is down 
 in the water, and corning on toward the " Condor,' ' the 
 
368 THE FLAG OF LzSTRESS. 
 
 oar-blades flashing in the sun, and flinging spray-drops 
 that seem like silver stars. The bark eddying on, he 
 has the boat in view but a short while. What matters 
 it now ? He is no more apprehensive, but certain of 
 lining raved, and he looks no longer, only listens ; 
 soon to hear words spoken in a strong manly voice, to 
 him sweeter than music. It is the hail, — 
 
 "Bark ahoy!" 
 
 In feeble accents he makes answer, continuing to 
 call out till other voices, echoing along the " Condor's" 
 decks, become commingled with his own. Then there 
 are footsteps on the quarter-deck, and they are soon 
 after heard descending the cabin-stair. The handle is 
 turned, the door pushed open ; and a swish of fresh 
 air sweeps in, human beings along with it, as they 
 enter, giving utterance to exclamations of astonish- 
 ment. 
 
 Wrenching his neck around, he sees there are two of 
 them, both in the uniform of naval officers, and both 
 known to him. Their presence gives him many emo- 
 tions, too many for his strength, so long and sorely 
 tried. Overpowered by it, he becomes unconscious, as 
 though the sight, instead of gladdening, had suddenly 
 deprived him of life. 
 
 No need to say that the officers who have entered 
 the "Condor's" cabin are Crozier and Cadwallader ; 
 for she is the polacca bark we have seen chased ty a 
 frigate, that frigate the "Crusader." 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 369 
 
 CHAPTER XLIX. 
 
 A CARD UNEXPECTEDLY RECOVERED. 
 
 IT is the fourth day since the English officers^ 
 lieutenant, midshipman, and cockswain — boarded 
 the Chilian bark. They are still on board of her, and 
 she yet afloat, — the one a sequence of the other. 
 Otherwise, she would now be at the bottom of the sea. 
 For the squall that struck her would have thrown her on 
 her beam-ends, but that her sheets and halyards were 
 cast loose at an opportune moment, so saving her from 
 certain destruction. Her sails have suffered, neverthe- 
 less ; scarce one that was not torn to shreds, excepting 
 a storm-stay and trysail, which they were enabled to set 
 during the gale. And now that it is over, they have 
 managed to bend on a new foresail and jib, found 
 among the bark's spare canvas. With these she is 
 making way at the rate of some six knots an hour, her 
 head set east by south. A grim, terrible fight that 
 squall gave them ; only the three men to manage so 
 large a craft in a tempest, which, though short lived, 
 was as fierce as ever swept over the Pacific. They had 
 no aid from any of the other three ; nor from two of 
 them have the}' any yet. Capt. Lantanas is still deliri- 
 ous, locked up in his state-room, lest, in his madness, 
 he ma} r do some violent act ; while Don Gregorio, 
 weak as a chiki, reclines on the cabin settee, unable to 
 ascend to the deck. The negro alone, having partially 
 recovered strength, lends some assistance at the sails. 
 
870 THE FLAG OF DISTKE39. 
 
 It is twelve o'clock meridian ; and Grummet, the 
 cockswain, is at the wheel ; the officers on the quarter, 
 Crozier, sextant in hand, " shooting the. sun." The} 7 
 have long ago given up hope of finding the frigate, or 
 being found by her. 
 
 The signal gun, heard b} 7 them repeatedly throughout 
 that wild night, they could not answer, neither, in the 
 fog, know its direction. At the time, it sounded like 
 their death-knell ; and now any chance of their coming 
 across the " Crusader" is as one in a thousand. Aware 
 of this, they are steering the crippled vessel towards 
 Panama, in hope of there finding the frigate. In any 
 case, that is the port where they will be most likely to 
 get tidings of her. 
 
 A prey to saddened thoughts are the two young 
 officers, as they stand on the quarter-deck of the Chili- 
 an vessel, taking the altitude of the sun, with instru- 
 ments her own skipper is no longer able to use. For- 
 tunately, these things had not been carried off, else 
 there would be but little likelihood of their making 
 Panama. At best, the} 7 will reach it with broken 
 hearts ; for they have heard the whole story in all its 
 dark details, so far as Don Gregorio could give them. 
 
 Having alread}' determined their longitude by the 
 bark's chronometer, they have kept it by log-reckoning ; 
 and their present observation is but to confirm them in 
 the latitude. 
 
 " Starboard your helm! " shouts Crozier to Grum- 
 met. " Give her another point to port. Keep her 
 east by south. Stead}' ! " 
 
 Then turning to Cadwallader, he says, "If all goes 
 well, we shall make Panama, in less than four days 
 We might do it in two, if we could but set sail enough 
 Anyhow, I think ol 1 Bracebridge will wait for us a 
 
A STORY OP THE SOUTH SEA. 371 
 
 least a week. Ah! I wish that were all we had to 
 trouble us. To think they're gone — lost to us — for- 
 ever ! " 
 
 " Don't say that, Ned. There's still a hope we may 
 find them." 
 
 " And found — what then? You needn't answer, 
 Will : I don't wish to speak of it: I daren't trust my- 
 self to think of it. Carmen Montijo, my betrothed, 
 captive to a crew of pirates ! " . 
 
 Cadwallader is silent. He suffers the same agony, 
 thinking of Inez. 
 
 For a time the picture remains before their minds, 
 dark as their gloomiest fears and fancies can paint it. 
 Then across it shoots a ray of hope, sinister, but 
 sweet ; for it is a thought of vengeance. Cadwallader 
 first gives expression to it. 
 
 " Whatever has happened to the girls, we shall go 
 after them anyhow. And the robbers — we must find 
 them." 
 
 "Find and punish them, ,, cries Crozier. " That we 
 surely shall ! If it cost all my money, all the work of 
 my life, I'll revenge the wrongs of Carmen Montijo." 
 
 " And I those of Inez Alvarez." 
 
 For a while they stand silently brooding upon that 
 which has brought such black shadow over their hearts ; 
 then Cadwallader says, — 
 
 "They must have plotted it all before leaving San 
 Francisco, and shipped aboard the Chilian vessel for 
 the express purpose of getting this gold. That's Don 
 Gregorio's idea of it, borne out by what he heard from 
 that riuTian he knew there — Roca? the name, he says." 
 
 "It seems probable, indeed certain," rejoins Cro- 
 zier; "though it don't much matter how or when 
 tbey planned the wicked deed. Enough that they've 
 
372 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 done it. But to think of Harry Blew turning traitor, 
 and taking part with them ! That is to rne the stran- 
 gest thing of all, and painful as strange." 
 
 " But do you believe he has done so?" 
 
 " How can I help believing it? What Don Gregorio 
 heard leaves no alternative. He went off in the boat 
 along with the rest, besides saying words which prove 
 he went willingly. Only to think of such black ingrati- 
 tude ! Cadwallader, I'd as soon have thought of sus« 
 pecting yourself ! " 
 
 i; His conduct, certainly, seems incredible. I be- 
 lieved Blew to be a thoroughly honest fellow. No 
 doubt the gold corrupted him, as it has many a better 
 man. But let's think no more about it, only hope we 
 may some da}' lay hands on him." 
 
 " Ah 1 If I ever do that ! With my arms around 
 him, I once saved his worthless life. Let me but get 
 him into my embrace again, and he'll have a hug 
 that'll squeeze the last breath out of his bod} 7 ." 
 
 " The chance may come yet, and with the whole 
 scoundrelly crew. What brutes the}' must have been ! 
 According to Don Gregorio' s account, they were of all 
 nations, and the worst sort of each. The negro says 
 the same. Among them four that spoke Spanish, and 
 appeared to be Spaniards, or Spanish Americans. 
 Suppose we pay a visit to the forecastle, and see if we 
 can find any record of their names. It might be of 
 use hereafter." 
 
 " By all means!" assents the lieutenant; and the 
 two start for the fore-deck in silence, with anxiety 
 upon their faces ; for there is a thought in theii 
 hearts which neither has yet made known to the other, 
 — blacker and more bitter than the knowledge of 
 Harry Blew's treason. Unspoken, the}- carry it intc 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 373 
 
 the forecastle ; but they are not many minutes there, 
 before seeing what brings it out, without either having 
 spoken a word. A bunk, the most conspicuous of the 
 two tiers, is explored first. Among its scattered 
 contents are papers of various sorts, -r- some letters, 
 several numbers of an old newspaper, and a pack of 
 Spanish cards. Beside these is one of a different kind, 
 — a little bit of white card, with a name printed upon 
 it a visiting-card — but whose? As Crozier picks 
 it upj and reads the name, his blood curdles, the hair 
 crisping on his head, — "Mr. Edward Crozier, 
 H.B.M. Frigate Crusader." 
 
 He does not need to be told how his card came there. 
 Intuitively he understands, remembering when, where, 
 and to whom, he gave it, — to De Lara on the day of 
 their encounter in front of Don Gregorio's house. 
 Thrusting it into his pocket, he clutches at the letters, 
 and looks at their superscription, — " Don Francisco de 
 Lara." Opening them, he rapidly reads one after the 
 other. His hands holding them shake as with a palsy, 
 while in his eyes there is an expression of a painful 
 nature ; for he fears, that, subscribed to some, he will 
 find a name dear to him, — that of Carmen Montijo. 
 If so, farewell to all faith in human kind. Harry 
 Blew's ingratitude has destro} r ed his belief in man. A 
 letter from the daughter of Don Gregorio Montijo to 
 the gambler Frank Lara will alike wither his confi- 
 dence in woman. 
 
 With eager eyes, and lips compressed, he continues 
 the perusal of the letters. The} 7 are from mairy corre- 
 spondents, and relate to various matters, most about 
 monej 7 and monte, signed u Faustino Calderon." As 
 the last passes through his fingers, he breathes freel}*, 
 though with a shrug of self-reproach for having 
 32 
 
374 THE FLAG. OF DISTRESS. 
 
 dor.oted the woman who was to have been bis wife 
 Turning to Cadwallader, — as himself, aware of all,— 
 he says in solemn emphasis, — 
 u Now we know! " 
 
 CHAPTER L. 
 
 THE LAST LEAF IN THE LOO. 
 
 NO common pirates, then, no mere crew of muti- 
 nous sailors, have carried off Carmen Montijo 
 and Inez Alvarez. It has been done by De Lara and 
 Calderon ; for, although there is no evidence of the 
 latter having been aboard the bark, it is deducible, and 
 not even doubtful. With a design such as that before 
 them, the confederates were not likely to have parted. 
 
 Several hours have elapsed since the discovery ; and 
 the young officers, again upon the quarter-deck, stand 
 gazing in one another's faces, on both an expression 
 of anguish, which the new knowledge has intensified. 
 It was painful to think of their sweethearts being the 
 sport of rough robbers ; but to picture them in the 
 power of Francisco de Lara and Faustino Calderon, 
 knowing what they do of these men, is agony itself. 
 
 " Yes, it's all clear," says Crozier. " No idea of 
 getting gold has brought the thing about. That may 
 have influenced the others who assisted them ; but with 
 them the motive was different, r,s fiendish. I see it 
 now." 
 
 "Do yon know, Ned, I half suspected it from the 
 llrst. You remember what I sai \ as we were leaving 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 375 
 
 San Francisco. After what happened between us and 
 the gamblers, I had my fears about our girls being left 
 in the same place with them. Still, who'd have thought 
 of their following them aboard ship? — above all, with 
 Blew there, and after his promise to protect them? 
 You remember him saying he'd lay down his life for 
 theirs?" 
 
 " Certainly I do. If ever I find him, I shall mate 
 him surfer for that broken promise.' ' 
 
 " "What do you propose doing after we reach Pana- 
 ma? If we find the frigate there, we'll be obliged to 
 join her." 
 
 " Obliged ! There's no obligation to bind a man reck- 
 less as I — as this misery makes me. Unless Capt. 
 Bracebridge consent to assist us in the search, I'll go 
 alone." 
 
 " Not alone. There's one will be with you." 
 
 "I know it, Will. Of course, I count upon you. 
 What I mean is, if Bracebridge won't help us with 
 the frigate, I'll throw up nry commission, charter a 
 vessel nryself, engage a crew, and search every inch 
 of the American coast till I find where they've put 
 in." 
 
 " What a pit}' we can't tell the place ! They must 
 have been near land to take to an open boat." 
 
 "In sight of, close to it. I've been questioning 
 Don Gregorio. He knows that much, and but little 
 besides. The poor gentleman is almost as crazed as 
 the skipper. A wonder he's not more. He says they 
 had sighted land that very morning — the first since 
 leaving California. The captain told them they would 
 be in Panama about two ckiys after. As the boat was 
 being rowed awa} T , Don Gregorio saw it through the 
 cabin- windows. They appeared to make for some 
 
37(3 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 land not far off, lighted up by a clear moonlight. Tha t's 
 all I can get out of him." 
 
 " The old negro — can he tell no better story: ' 
 
 " I've questioned him too. He's equally sure of 
 their having been close in to the coast. What point, 
 he has no idea any more than the orangs. However, 
 he states a particular fact, which is more satisfactory. 
 A short while before they seized hold of him, he waa 
 looking over the side, and saw a strangely-shaped hill, 
 a mountain. He describes it as having two tops. The 
 moon was between them, the reason for his taking 
 notice of it. That double-headed hill may yet stand 
 us in stead." 
 
 *' How unfortunate the skipper losing his senses! 
 If he'd kept them, he could have told us where he was 
 at the time the bark was abandoned. His getting luny 
 is enough to make one think the very Fates are against 
 us. B} T the way, we've never thought of looking at the 
 log-book. That ought to throw some light on the 
 locality." 
 
 " It ought, and doubtless would if we only had it. 
 You're mistaken in saj'ing we never thought of it. I 
 did, and have been searching for it all along. But it's 
 gone ; and, what's become of it, I know not. They 
 may have thrown it overboard before leaving ; though 
 what good that would do them, I can't see. The cook 
 says it used to lie on a little shelf at the turning ftf the 
 cabin-stair. I've looked there and everywhere else, 
 but no log-book. As you sa} T , it's enough to make 
 one believe the Fates were against us. If so, we may 
 never reach Panama, much less live to " — 
 
 " See ! " cries Cadwallader, interrupting the despair. 
 ;ng speech. " Those brutes ! What's that they're 
 knocking about? B} T Jove! I believe it's the very 
 thing we're speaking of." 
 
A SlORr OF THE SOUTH SEA. S77 
 
 The " brutes" are the Myas monkeys, that, awav 
 in the ship's waist, are tossing something between 
 them, apparently a large book bound in rough red 
 leather. They have mutilated the binding, and, with 
 fceeth and claws, are tearing out the leaves, as they 
 strive to take it from one another. 
 
 " It is, it must be, the log-book," responds Crozier, 
 as both officers rush off to rescue it from the clutch of 
 the orangs. 
 
 They succeed, but not without difficult}", and a free 
 handling of handspikes, almost braining the apes before 
 these consent to relinquish it. 
 
 It is at length recovered, though in a ruinous condi- 
 tion, fortunately, however, with the written leave? 
 untorn. Upon the last of these is an entry, evidently 
 the latest made, — " Lat. 7° 20' N. ; Long. 82° 12' W 
 Light breeze." 
 
 "Good!" exclaims Crozier, rushing back to th( 
 quarter-deck, and bending over the chart. " Wit> 
 this, and the double-headed hill, we may get upon the 
 track of the despoilers. Just when w r e were despair- 
 ing ! Will, old bo} T , there's something in this. ) 
 have a presentiment that things are taking a turn, and 
 the Fates will }-et be for us." 
 
 " God grant they may ! " 
 
 "Ah!" sighs Crozier, "if we had but ten mep 
 aboard this bark, or even six, I'd never think of 
 going on to Panama, but steer straight for the Island 
 of Coiba. As the chart shows, that's the land they 
 must have seen, or else Hicaron, which lies on its? 
 sou' -west side. With a light breeze, they couldn't 
 have made much way after the date of that entry. 
 Oh for ten good hands ! A thousand pounds apiece 
 for ten tiusty lads ! I only wish in that squall thfl 
 cutter's crew had been left along with us." 
 
378 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 "Never fear, Ned; we'll get them again, or as 
 good. Old Bracebridge won't fail us, I'm sure. Hc'i 
 a ilear good soul ; and, when he hears the tale we've to 
 toll, it'll be all right. . If he can't himself come along 
 with the frigate, he'll allow us men to man this bark,-- 
 enough to make short work with her late crew, if wo 
 can once stand face to face with them. I only wish 
 we were in Panama." 
 
 " I'd rather we were off Coiba, or on shore wherever 
 the ruffians have landed." 
 
 " Not as we now are — three against twelve ! " 
 
 " I don't care for that. I'd give ten thousand 
 pounds to be in their midst, even alone." 
 
 " Ned, 3'ou'll never be there alone : wherever you go, 
 I go with you. We have a common cause, and shall 
 stand or fall together." 
 
 " That we shall. God bless 3-011, Will Cadwallader ! 
 I feel you're worthy of the friendship, the trust, I've 
 placed in 3-011. And now let's talk no more about it, 
 but bend on all the sail we can, and get to Panama. 
 After that, we'll steer for the Island of Coiba. We're 
 so far fortunate in having this westerly wind," he con- 
 tinues in more cheerful tones. " If it keep in the 
 same quarter for another twentj'-four hours, we ought 
 to sight land ; and, if this Chilian chart ma}' be de- 
 pended on, that should be the promontoiy on the west 
 side of Panama Ba3\ I hope the chart is a true one ; 
 for Punta Malo, as its name imports, isn't a nice place 
 to make mistakes about. If we should run too close 
 to it, with this west wind " — 
 
 " Steamer to norrard ! " cries a rough vone, inter- 
 rupting him. It is Grummet's. 
 
 The young officers, turning with a start, see the 
 same. Crozier, laying hold of a telescope, raises it tc 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 379 
 
 'us e}e, while he holds it there, saying, " You're right, 
 ■ockswain : it is a steamer, and standing this way. 
 >he'll run across our bows. Up helm, and set the 
 bark's head on her. I want to hail that vessel." 
 
 Grummet obeys, and, with a few turns of the wheel, 
 bring? the " Condor's" head round, till she is right to 
 meet the steamer. The officers, with the negro assist- 
 ing, loose tacks and sheets, trimming her sails for the 
 changed course. 
 
 Soon the two vessels, steered from almost opposite 
 directions, lessen the distance between ; and, as they 
 mutually make approach, each speculates on the char- 
 acter of the other. They on board the bark have little 
 difficulty in determining that of the steamer. At a 
 glance, they see she is not a war-ship, but a passenger- 
 packet ; and, as there are no others in that part of 
 the Pacific, she can be only one of the " liners " lately 
 established between San Francisco and Panama, com- 
 ing down from the former port, her destination the latter. 
 Kot so' easy for those aboard the steamship to make 
 out the character of the craft that has turned up in 
 their track, and is sailing straight towards them. 
 The} 7 see a bark, polacca-masted, with some sails set, 
 and others hanging in shreds from her yards. This of 
 itself would be enough ':o excite curiosity ; but there 
 is something besides, — a flag reversed flying at her 
 mainmast-head, the flag of Chili. It matters not 
 what its nationality. Enough that the}' know it to be 
 a signal of distress. 
 
 Responding to the appeal, the commander of the 
 steam-packet orders her engines to slow, and then to 
 cease action, till the huge leviathan, late running at 
 the rate of twelve knots an hour, gradually lessens 
 sfeed, and at length lies motionless upor the water 
 
380 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 Simultaneous!} 7 the bark is "hove to:" her sails 
 cease propelling her, and she lies at less than a cable's 
 length from the steamer. From the latter the hail ia 
 heard first, " Bark aho}' ! What bark is that? " 
 
 44 The 4 Condor/ Valparaiso. In distress." 
 
 " Send a boat aboard ! " 
 
 " Not strength to man it." 
 
 44 Wait, then ! We'll board you." 
 
 In less than five minutes' time, one of the quarter- 
 boats of the liner is lowered down, and a crew leaps 
 into it. Pushing off from her side, it soon touches 
 that of the vessel in distress, but not for its crew to 
 board her. Crozier has alreacty traced out his course 
 of action. Slipping down into the steamer's boat, he 
 makes request to be rowed to the ship, which is done 
 without questioning. The uniform he wears entitles 
 him to respect. 
 
 Stepping aboard the steamship, he sees that she is 
 what he has taken her for, a line-packet from San 
 Francisco, bound for Panama. She is crowded with 
 passengers ; at least a thousand showing upon her decks. 
 The} 7 are of all qualities and kinds, all colors and 
 nationalities ; most of them Californian gold-diggers 
 returning to their homes, — some successful and cheer- 
 ful, others downcast and disappointed. 
 
 He is not long in telling his tale, — first to the com- 
 mander of the steamer and his officers, then to the 
 passengers ; for to these he makes appeal, a call for 
 volunteers, not alone to assist in navigating the bark, 
 tut to proceed with him in pursuit of the crew that 
 cast her away. 
 
 He makes known his position, with his power to 
 compensate them for the service sought, both indorsed 
 by the commander of the steamship, who, in h is anxi- 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 381 
 
 ety to assist, is ready to answer for his credentials 
 The}^ are not needed, nor }'et the promise of a money 
 reward. Among those stalwart men are many who 
 are heroes, true Paladins, despite their somewhat 
 threadbare habiliments ; and amidst their soiled rags 
 shine pistols and knives ready to be drawn for the 
 right. 
 
 After hearing the young officer's tale, without listen- 
 ing further, twenty of them spring forward in response 
 to his appeal ; not for the reward he offers, but in the 
 cause of humanity and justice. He could enlist twice 
 or thrice the number ; but, deeming twent}^ enough, 
 with these he returns to the " Condor." 
 
 Then the two vessels part company, the steamer 
 continuing on for Panama ; while the bark, now better 
 manned, and with more sail set, is steered for the 
 point where the line of lat. 7° 20' N. intersects that 
 of Ions. 82° 12' W. 
 
 CHAPTER LI. 
 
 STARVATION POINT. 
 
 WHILE these scenes are passing at sea, others of 
 equally exciting character occur upon that 
 desert shore, where, by a sinister chance for them- 
 selves, if not for their captives, the pirate crew of the 
 "Condor" made landing. They are still upon the 
 isle, all their efforts to get off having proved idle. 
 But how different are the} T from that hour when they 
 brought their boat upon its beach, laden with the spoils 
 
882 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 of the plundered vessel ! Changed not only in thei; 
 feelings, but looks, scarce recognizable as the same men 
 Then in the full plenitude of swaggering strength, 
 mental as bodily, with tongues given to loud talk ; now 
 subdued and silent, stalking about like specties, with 
 weak, tottering steps ; some sitting listlessly upon 
 stones, or tying astretch along the earth ; not resting, 
 but from sheer inability to stand erect. 
 
 Famine has made its mark upon their faces. Hunger 
 can be read in their hollow eyes, and pale, sunken 
 cheeks ; while thirst shows upon their parched and 
 shrivelled lips. 
 
 Not strange all this. For nine days the}' have tasted 
 no food, save shell-fish and the rank flesh of sea-fowl 
 (both in short supply) , and no drink, excepting some 
 rain-water caught in the boat-sail during an occasional 
 slight shower. 
 
 All the while have they kept watch with an earnest- 
 ness such as their desperate circumstances evoked. A 
 tarpauling they have rigged up by oar and boat-hook, 
 set upon the most elevated point of the isle, has failed 
 to attract the eye of any one on the mainland, or, if 
 seen, the signal has been disregarded ; while to sea- 
 ward, no ship or other vessel has been observed, nought 
 but the blank blue of ocean recalling their crime, in its 
 calm tranquillity mocking their remorse. 
 
 Repentant are the}' now. If they could, willingly 
 would they undo their wicked deed, joyfully surrender 
 the stolen gold, gladly give up their captives, be but 
 too glad to restore to life those they have deprived of 
 : t. 
 
 It cannot be. Their victims left aboard the bark 
 must have long ago gone to the bottom of the sea. In 
 its bed they are now sleeping their last sleep, released 
 
A STOP.Y OF THE SOUTH SEA. 383 
 
 from all earthly woes ; and they who have so ruthlessly 
 consigned them to their eternal rest now almost envy 
 it. In their hour of agon}-, as hunger gnaws at theii 
 entrails, and thirst scorches them like a consuming fire, 
 they care little for life ; some even desiring death. 
 
 All are humbled now. Even the haughty Gomez no 
 longer affects to be their leader ; and the savage Padilla 
 is tamed to silent inaction, if not tenderness. By a 
 sort of tacit consent, Harry Blew has become the 
 controlling spirit, perhaps from having evinced more 
 humanity than the rest. Now that adversity is on 
 them, their better natures are brought out, and the less 
 hardened of them have resumed the gentleness of 
 childhood's da} T s. 
 
 The change has been of singular consequence to 
 their captives. These are no longer restrained, but 
 free to go and come as it pleases them. No more 
 need they fear insult or injury. No rudeness is offered 
 them, either by speech or gesture : on the contrary, 
 they are treated with studied respect, almost with 
 deference. The choicest articles of food, bad at best, 
 are apportioned to them, as also the largest share of 
 the water, fortunately, sufficient of both to keep up 
 their strength ; and the}', in turn, have been minis- 
 tering angels, tender nurses to the men who have made 
 all their miseiy. 
 
 Thus have they lived up till the night of the ninth 
 day since their landing on the isle ; then a heavy rain- 
 fall, filling the concavity of the boat's sail, enables 
 them to replenish the beaker, with other vessels they 
 had brought ashore. 
 
 On the morning of the tenth, they are relinquishing 
 themselves to bitter despair and have called to the 
 Dutchman, who has been posted on the heights above, 
 
384 THE TLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 on the outlook for a passing sail, to come down. A 
 last solemn council of ways and means is to- be held, 
 and all hands must assist. But he neither obeys, nor 
 gives back response. He does not even look in their 
 direction. They can see him by the signal-staff, 
 standing erect, with face turned towards the sea, and 
 one hand over his ej-es, shading them from the sun. 
 He appears to be regarding some object in the offing. 
 
 Presently he lowers the spread palm, and raises a 
 telescope with which he is provided. 
 
 They stand watching him, speechless, and with bated 
 breath, their solemn purpose for the time forgotten. 
 In the gleaming of that glass they have a fancy there 
 ma} 7 be life, as there is light. 
 
 The silence continues till 'tis seen going down. 
 Then they hear words which send the blood in quick 
 current through their veins, bringing hope back into 
 their hearts, " Sail in sight ! " 
 
 CHAPTER LII. 
 
 AN AVENGING NEMESIS. 
 
 SAIL in sight ! Three little words, but full of 
 big meaning, oft carrying the question of life or 
 death. 
 
 To the ears of the starving crew, sweet as music, 
 despite the harsh Teutonic pronunciation of him who 
 gave them utterance. 
 
 At the shout from above, all have faced towards the 
 sea, and stand scanning its surface, but with gaze 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 385 
 
 unrewarded. The white flecks seen afar are only the 
 wings of gulls. 
 
 "Where away?" shouts one, interrogating him on 
 the hill. 
 
 " Sou'-westert." 
 
 South-westward they cannot see. In this direction 
 their view is bounded ; a projection of the cliff inter- 
 posing between them and the outside shore. All who 
 are able start off towards its summit. The stronger 
 ones rush up the gorge as if their lives depended on 
 speed. The weaker go toiling after. One or two, 
 weaker still, stay below to wait the report that will 
 soon reach them. 
 
 The first up, on clearing the scarp, have their eyes 
 upon the Dutchman. His behavior might cause them 
 surprise, if they could not account for it. The signal- 
 staff is upon the higher of the two peaks, some two 
 nundred yards beyond. He is beside it, and apparent- 
 ly beside himself . Dancing over the ground, he makes 
 grotesque gesticulations, tossing his arms about, and 
 waving his hat overhead, all the while shouting as if 
 to some ship cose at hand, repeating the hail, u Ahoy, 
 ahoy!" 
 
 Looking, they can see no ship, nor craft of any kind. 
 For a moment they think him mad, and fear, after all, 
 it may be a mistake. Certainly there is no vessel 
 near enough to be hailed. 
 
 But, sending their eyes farther out, their fear gives 
 place to jo}~ almost delirious. There is a sail *, and 
 though long leagues off, little more than a speck, their 
 practised e}'es tell them she is steering that waj T , run- 
 ning coastwise. Keeping her course, she must come 
 past the isle, within sight of their signal, so long 
 spread tc no purpose. "Without staying to reflect 
 
 33 
 
386 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 further, they strain on towards the summit wheie the 
 staff is erected. 
 
 Harry Blew is the first to reach it, and, clutching 
 the telescope, jerks it from the hands of the half- 
 craved Dutchman. Raising it to his eye, he bends it 
 on the distant sail, there keeping it more than a minute. 
 The others have meanwhile come up, and, clustering 
 around, impatiently question him. 
 
 " What is she? How's she standing? " 
 
 "A bit o' a bark," responds Blew, "and, from 
 what I can make out, close huggin' the shore. I'll 
 be better able to tell when she draws out from that 
 clump o' cloud." 
 
 Gomez, standing by, appears eager to get hold of 
 the glass ; but Blew seems reluctant to give it up. 
 Still holding it at his e} T e, he says, " See to that sig- 
 nal, mates ! Spread the tarpaulin' to its full stretch. 
 Face it square, so's to give 'em every chance o' sight- 
 in' it." 
 
 Striker and Dav\s spring to the piece of tarred can- 
 vas, and grasping it, one at each corner, draw out the 
 creases, and hold as directed. 
 
 All the while Blew stands with the telescope levelled, 
 loath to relinquish it But Gomez, grown importunate, 
 insists on having his turn ; and it is at length surren- 
 dered, to him. 
 
 Blew, stepping aside, seems excited with some 
 emotion he tries to conceal. Strong it must be, judg- 
 ing from its effects on the ex-man-o'-war's-man. On 
 his face there is an expression difficult to describe, — 
 surprise amounting to amazement, joy subdued by anx- 
 iety. Soon as giving up the glass, he pullfl off his 
 pilot-coat ; then divesting himself of his shirt, a scarlet 
 Hannel, he suspends t from the outer end of the cross- 
 
A S20BY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 387 
 
 piece which supports the tarpauling, as he does so, say- 
 ing to Striker and Davis, "That's a signal no ship 
 ought to disregard, and won't if manned b} r Christian 
 men. She won't, if she sees it. You two stay here, 
 and keep the things well spread. I'm going below to 
 say a word to them poor creeturs. Stand by the staff, 
 and don't let an}' o' them haul down the signal." 
 
 "Ay, ay!" answers Striker, without comprehend- 
 ing, and somewhat wondering at Blew's words — under 
 the circumstances strange. "All right, mate. Ye 
 may depend on me an' Bill." 
 
 " I know it, I do," rejoins the ex-man-o'-war's-man, 
 again drawing the dreadnought over his shirtless skin. 
 " Both o' you be true to me, and, 'fore long, I may be 
 able to show I an't ungrateful." 
 
 Saying this, he separates from the Sydney Ducks, 
 and hurries down towards the gorge. 
 
 Both, as they stand by the signal-staff, now more 
 than ever wonder at what he has said, and interrogate 
 one another as to his meaning. 
 
 In the midst of their mutual questioning, they are at- 
 tracted by a cry strangely intoned. It is from Gomez, 
 who has brought down the telescope, and holds it in 
 hands that shake as with pals}'. 
 
 "What is it?" asks Padilla, stepping up to him. 
 
 " Take the glass, Rafael Rocas. See for } T ourself ! " 
 
 The old contrabandista does as directed. He is 
 silent for some seconds, while getting the telescope on 
 the strange vessel. Soon as he has her within the field 
 of view, he commences making remarks, overheard 3y 
 Striker and Davis, giving both a surprise, though .lie 
 latter least. 
 
 " Bark she is — polacca-masts. Queer ! About the 
 same bulk too! If it wasn't that we're sure of the 
 
388 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 1 Condor ' being below, I'd be willing to swear it waa 
 she. Of course, it can be only a coincidence. A 
 strange one, though." 
 
 Velarde, in turn, takes the telescope ; he, too, after 
 a sight through it, expressing himself in a similar 
 manner. Hernandez next ; for the four Spaniard* 
 have all ascended to the hill. 
 
 But Striker does not wait to hear what Hernandez 
 may have to say. Dropping the tarpauling, he strides 
 up to him, and, scljis ceremonie, takes the telescope 
 from his fingers ; then bringing it to his eye, sights 
 for himself. 
 
 Less than twenty seconds suffice for him to deter- 
 mine the character of the vessel. Within that time, 
 his glance taking in her hull, traversing along the line 
 of her bulwarks, and then ascending to the tops of her 
 tall, smooth masts, he recognizes all as things with 
 which he is well acquainted. 
 
 He, too, almost lets drop the telescope, as, turning 
 to the others, he says in a scared but firm voice, the 
 "« Condor !'" 
 
 u « Condor ! ' Impossible ! " cry the four Spaniards, 
 speaking together. 
 
 " It is, for all that ! " rejoins Striker. " How so I 
 don't understan' any more than yourselves. But that 
 vonder craft be the Chili bark — or her spectre — I'll 
 take my solemn affydavy." 
 
 Striker's speech calls up strange thoughts, that take 
 possession of the minds of those listening to it. How 
 could it be the " Condor," long since scuttled, sent to 
 the bottom of the sea? Impossible ! The sail seen 
 must be a spectre. 
 
 In their weak state, with nerves unnaturally excited, 
 they almost believe this, one and all impressed with 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 
 
 wild, weird fancies, that strike terror to their guilt} 
 60uls. 
 
 Something more than mortal is pursuing to punish 
 them. It is the hand of vengeance. For days thev 
 have been thinking so ; and now they see it stretch 
 ing farther, and coming nearer. Clearly a Fate, a«* 
 avenging Nemesis ! 
 
 " It's the bark, beyond a doubt," continues Striker, 
 with the glass again at his eye. " Every thin' the 
 same, 'oeptin' her sails, the which show patched like. 
 That be no thin'. It's the Chili craft, and no other. 
 Her sure's we stan' heer ! " 
 
 " Stay! " exclaims Gomez. " Where are they who 
 took charge of the scuttling? Can they have blun- 
 dered in their work? " 
 
 Remembering the men, all turn round, looking for 
 them. They are not among the group gathered around 
 the staff. Blew has long ago gone down the gorge , 
 and Davis is just disappearing into it. They shout tc 
 him to come back. He hears, but, not heeding, 
 continues on, and is soon out of sight. It matters not 
 questioning him, and they give up thought of it. The 
 thing out at sea engrosses all their attention. 
 
 Now nearer, the telescope is no longer needed to tel) 
 that it is a bark, polacca-masted, in size, shape of 
 hull, sit in the water, every thing, the same as with 
 the " Condor ; " and the bit of bunting, — red, white, 
 blue, — the Chilian ensign, the flag carried by the bark 
 they abandoned. They remember a blurred point in 
 the central star : 'tis there ! 
 
 Spectre or not, she is standing towards them, 
 straight towards them, coming on at a rate of speed 
 that soon brings her abreast the islet. She has seen 
 their signal, no doubt of that : if there were, it is 
 
390 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 before long set at rest ; for, while they are watcning 
 her, she draws opposite the opening in tl e reef, then 
 lets sheet? loose, and, squaring her after-yards, is 
 Instantly hove to. 
 
 Down drops a boat from the davits : as it strikes the 
 water, men seem swarming over the side into it. Then 
 the plash of oars, their wet blades glinting in the sun, 
 as the boat is rowed through the reef-passage. Im* 
 pelled by strong arms, it soon crosses the stretch of 
 calm water, and shoots up into the cove. Beaching it, 
 the crew spring out on the pebbly strand, some not 
 waiting till it is drawn up, but dashing breast-deep into 
 the surf. There are nearly twenty, all stalwart fellows, 
 with big beards ; some in sailor garb, but most red- 
 shirted, belted, bristling with bowie-knives and pistols, 
 wearing tall boots, with trousers tucked in at their tops, 
 — the costume of the California gold-digger. 
 
 Two are different from the rest, in the uniform of 
 naval officers, with caps gold-banded. These, though 
 the youngest, seem to command, being the first to leap 
 out of the boat, soon as on shore, drawing their swords, 
 and advancing at the head of the others. 
 
 All this observed b} r the four Spaniards, who are still 
 around the signal-staff, like it, standing fixed, though 
 not a together motionless; for the} T are shale ng with 
 fear. Their thoughts, hitherto given to th i super- 
 natural, are not less so now, even more, hose of 
 Gomez and Hernandez, Incomprehensible to them, 
 She " Condor " being afloat ; but to behold among the 
 men who have just come out of her two the}' well know ! 
 For, in the officers leading, De Lara and Calderon 
 recognize their detested rivals in love, — the same who 
 made smash of their month bank. 
 
 For some moments, De Lara stands in sullen silence, 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 391 
 
 with eyes dilated. He has watched the beaching of the 
 boat, and the landing of her crew. Recognizing the 
 officers, he clutches Calderon by the arm. Now, more 
 vividly than ever, is their crime recalled ; for now its 
 punishment is near : there is no chan '„e to escape it. 
 To resist will only be to hasten their doom, — sure to 
 be death. They do not think of resistance, nor yet 
 flight, but remain upon the hilltop, cowering and 
 speechless. Calderon is the first to break silence, fran- 
 tically exclaiming, * ' The officers of the English frigate ! 
 Mystery of mj'steries ! What can it mean ? 
 
 " No mystery," rejoins De Lara, addressing himself 
 to the other three, — " none whatever. I see it all now, 
 clear as the sun at noonday. Blew has been traitor to 
 us, as I suspected all along. He and Davis have not 
 scuttled the bark, but left her to go drifting about ; 
 and the frigate to which these officers belong has come 
 across, picked her up, and, lo ! they are there." 
 
 " That's it, no doubt," says Velarde, otherwise Diaz. 
 " But those rough fellows with them don't appear to be 
 men-of-war' s-men, nor sailors of any kind, more like 
 gold-diggers, the same as crowd the streets of San 
 Francisco. They must have come thence." 
 
 "It matters not what they are or where from: 
 enough that they're here, and we in their power." 
 
 At this, Diaz and Padilla, now known as Rafael 
 Rocas, step towards the cliff's edge, to have a look 
 below, leaving the other two by the staff. 
 
 " What do you suppose they'll do to us? " asks Cal- 
 deron of De Lara. " Do you think the}- '11 " — 
 
 " Shoot or hang us? " interrupts De Lara : " that's 
 what 3 T ou'd say. I don't think any thing about it. 
 One or other they'll do, to a certainty." 
 
 " Is there no chance of escaping? " piteously exclaims 
 the px-qanadero. 
 
392 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 •-None whatever. No use cur trying to get aw 115 
 from them. There s nowhere we could conceal our« 
 selves, not a spot to give us shelter for a single hour.. 
 For my part, I don't intend to stir from here. Yes, I 
 shall go down to them, and meet death like aniari — no, 
 like a tiger. Before djing, I shall defend myself. Are 
 you good to do the same ? Are you game for it ? ' ' 
 
 "I don't comprehend you," answers Calderon 
 " Who would you fight against? " 
 
 " Whomsoever I can. Two for certain." 
 
 "Which two?" 
 
 " Crozier and Carmen. You may do as 3-ou please. 
 I've marked out my pair, and mean to have their lives 
 before yielding up my own, — hers, if I can't his. She 
 sha'n't live to triumph over me." 
 
 While speaking, the desperado has taken out his 
 revolver, and, holding it at half-cock, spins the cylinder 
 round, to see that all the six chambers are loaded, with 
 the caps on the nipples. Sure of this, he returns it to 
 its holster, and then glances at his machete, hanging 
 on his left hip. All this with a cool carefulness which 
 shows him determined upon his hellish purpose. Cal- 
 deron, quailing at the thought of it, endeavors to dis- 
 suade him, urging, that, after all, they may be only 
 made prisoners, and leniently dealt with. He is cut 
 short b} T De Lara crying out, — 
 
 " You may stifle in a prison, if it so please 3*011. 
 After what's happened, that's not the destiny foi mc. 
 I prefer death and vengeance." 
 
 " Better life and vengeance," cries Rocas, coming 
 up, Diaz along with him, both in breathless haste. 
 "Quick, comrades!" he continues. "Follow me 1 
 I'll find a waj T to save the first, and maj'be get fhe last, 
 sooner than you expected " 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 398 
 
 " It's no use, Rafael," argues De Lara, misunder 
 standing the speech of the seal-hunter. "Ifwe attempt 
 flight, they'll only shoot us down the sooner. Where 
 could we flee to?" 
 
 " Come on : I'll show you where. Courage ! Don't 
 fetand hesitating : every second counts now. If we can 
 but get there in time ' ' — 
 
 "Get where?" 
 
 "To the boat." 
 
 On hearing the words, De Lara utters an exclamation 
 of joy. They apprise him of a plan which may not 
 only get him out of danger, but give revenge sweet 
 as ever fell to the lot of mortal man. 
 
 He hesitates no longer, but hastens after the seal- 
 hunter, who, with the other two, has already started 
 towards the brow of the cliff. But not to stay there ; 
 for, in a few seconds after, they are descending it, 
 not through the gorge by which they came up, but 
 another, also debouching into the bay. 
 
 Little dream the English officers, or the brave men 
 who have landed with them, of the peril impending. 
 If the scheme cf the seal-hunter succeed, the'rs will be 
 a pitiful fate : J he tables will be turned upon them. . 
 
894 THE FLAG OF DISTBT2SS. 
 
 CHAPTER Lin. 
 
 THE TABLES NEARLY TURNED. 
 
 AT the cliff's base, the action, simultaneous, is yet 
 more exciting. Having left their boat behind, 
 with a man to take care of it, the rescuers advance 
 towards the inner end of the cove ; at first with cau- 
 tion, till, passing the rock-portal, they see the platform, 
 and those on it. Then the young officers rush forward, 
 with no fear of having to light. Instead of armed 
 enemies to meet them, they behold the dear ones from 
 whom they have been so long separated ; beside them. 
 half a dozen figures, more like spectres than men, 
 with cowed, craven faces, seeming so feeble as to have 
 a difficulty in keeping their feet. With swords sheathed, 
 and pistols returned to their holsters, they hasten on, 
 the girls rushing out to receive them. Soon they are 
 together, two and two, breasts touching, and arms 
 infolded in mutual embrace. For a while, no words, — 
 the hearts of all four too full for speech, — only ejacu- 
 lations and kisses, with tears, not of sorrow. Soon 
 follow speeches, necessarily brief and half-incoherent ; 
 Crozier telling Carmen that her father is still alive, 
 and aboard the bark. He lives, he is safe : that is 
 enough. Then, in answer to his questions, a word or 
 two on her side ; but, without waiting to hear all, he 
 turns abruptly upon Harry Blew^, who is seen some 
 paces off. Neither by word nor gesture has the sailor 
 saluted him. He stands passive, a silent spectator, 
 as Crozier supposes, the greatest criminal on earth. 
 
A STOEY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 395 
 
 111 quick retrospect of what has occurred, and what 
 ae has heard from Don Gregorio, how could it be 
 otherwise? But he will not condemn without hearing ; 
 and, stepping up to the ex-man-o-war's-man, he demands 
 explanation of .lis conduct, sternly saying, "Now, 
 sir, I claim an account from you. Tell your story 
 straight, and don't conceal aught, or prevaricate. If 
 your treason be as black as I believe it, you deserve no 
 mere}' from me. And your onty chance to obtain it 
 will be b} T telling the truth." 
 
 While speaking, he draws his sword, and stands 
 confronting the sailor, as if a word were to be the 
 signal for thrusting him through. 
 
 Blew is himself armed with both pistol and knife ; 
 but instead of drawing, or making any show of de- 
 fence, he remains cowed-like, his head drooping down 
 to his breast. He gives no response. His lips move 
 not ; neither his arms nor limbs. Alone his broad 
 chest heaves and falls, as if stirred by some terrible 
 emotion. His silence seems a confession of guilt. 
 
 Taking, or mistaking it for this, Crozier cries out, 
 4 ' Traitor, confess before I run this blade through 
 your miserable body." 
 
 The threat elicits an answer. " You may kill me if 
 you wish, Master Edward. B} T rights, my life belongs 
 to ye. But, if you take it, I'll ha\e the satisfaction o' 
 knowin' I've done the best I could to prove my grate- 
 fulness for 3-our once savin' it." 
 
 Long before he has finished his strange speech, the 
 impending stroke is stayed, and the raised blade 
 dropped point downward ; for on the hand which 
 grasps it, a gentler one is laid, a soft voice saying, 
 "Hold, Eduardo ! What would you do? You know 
 not. This brave man — to him T owe ray life, — I and 
 Inez." 
 
396 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 "Yes," adds Inez, advancing, "more than life 
 'Tis he who protected us." 
 
 Crozier stands trembling, the sword almost shaken 
 from his grasp. While sheathing it, he is told how 
 near he has been to doing that which would ever aftor 
 have made him miserable. He feels like one withheld 
 from a crime, — almost parricide ; for to have killed 
 HaiT} Blew would have been like killing his own 
 father. 
 
 The exciting episode is almost instantly succeeded 
 by another, still more stirring, and. longer sustained. 
 While Carmen is proceeding to explain her interference 
 on behalf of Blew, she is interrupted by cries com- 
 ing up from the beach ; not meaningless shouts, but 
 words of ominous import: "Ahoy, there! help, 
 help!" Coupled with them, Crozier hears his own 
 name, then the " Help, help ! " reiterated, recogniz- 
 ing the voice of the man left in charge of the boat. 
 Without hesitating an instant, he springs off toward 
 the strand, Cadwallader and the gold-diggers follow- 
 ing ; two sta} T ing to keep guard over those of the 
 robbers who have surrendered. On clearing the rock}' 
 portal, they see what is causing the boat-keeper to sing 
 out in such terrified accents, — a sight which sends the 
 scare through their own hearts, with cries of alarm 
 from their lips. He in the boat is on his feet, with a 
 ^oat-hook in his hands, which he brandishes in a 
 lisrcptening manner, shcuting all the while. Four 
 men are making towards him fast as their legs can 
 carry them. They are coming along the strand from 
 the right sidi of the cove. At a glance, the young 
 officers see who they are ; at least two of them, — De 
 Lara and Calderon, — sooner from their not meeting 
 them unexpectedly ; for, aware that these am on the 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 39* 
 
 isle, they were about to go in quest cf them, when 
 summoned by the cries. No need to search for them 
 now. There the}' are, with their confederates, ruslrng 
 direct for the boat, already within pistol-shot of it. 
 There can be no doubt as to their intent ; and the cer- 
 tainty of it sends a cold, shivering fear through the 
 hearts of those who see them, all suddenly recognizing 
 a danger seeming as death itself. They remember 
 having left only two or three men on the bark. 
 Should the pirates succeed in boarding her, they may 
 cany her off to sea, leaving the rescuers on the isle, 
 and then — An appalling prospect, they have no time 
 to dwell on, nor need ; for it comes before them like a 
 flash in all its horrid details. Without waiting even to 
 exchange word with one another, they rush on to 
 arrest the threatened catastrophe, bounding over the 
 rocks, crashing through shells and pebbles. But they 
 are behind time ; and the others will reach the boat 
 before them. Crozier, seeing this, shouts to the man, 
 " Shove off into deep water ! " 
 
 The sailor, understanding what is meant, brings the 
 boat-hook point downward, and, with a desperate effort, 
 pushes the keel clear, sending the boat adrift. But, 
 before he can repeat the push, pistols are fired ; and, 
 simultaneous with their reports, he is seen to' sink 
 down, and lie doubled over the thwarts. A yell of 
 vengeance peals from the pursuing party ; and, mad- 
 dened, they rush on. The} 7 will be too late. Already 
 the pirates have reached the boat, now undefended ; 
 and all four together, swarming over the gunwale, drop 
 down upon the thwarts, each laying hold of an oar, 
 and shipping it. In agony, Crozier cries out, " Oh, 
 they cannot surely get away — those guilty wretches ! " 
 But it would seem so. The} 7 have dropped their oar* 
 
 84 
 
398 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 blades in the water, and commerced pulling, whilo 
 they are beyond pistol-range. Hj. ! something stays 
 them ! An avenging Power stag's them. Their anus 
 rise and fall ; but the boat moves not. Her keel is on 
 a coral bottom ; her bilge caught upon its rough pro- 
 jections. Their own weight, pressing down, holds her 
 fast, and their oar-strokes are icily spent. 
 
 They had not thought of being thus stayed, which 
 proves the turning-point of their fate. No use their 
 leaping out now to lighten the boat ; no time for that, 
 nor any chance to escape. But two alternatives stare 
 them in the face, — resistance, which means death, and 
 surrender, that seems the same. De Lara would resist 
 and die ; so, also, Rocas. But the other two are against 
 it, instinctively holding on to whatever hope of life may 
 be left them. 
 
 The craven Calderon cuts short the uncertainty by 
 rising erect, stretching forth his arms, and crying out 
 in a piteous appeal for mere}'. In an instant after, 
 they are surrounded, the boat grasped by the gunwale, 
 and dragged back to the shore. Crozier with difficulty 
 restrains the angry gold-diggers from shooting them 
 down on the thwarts. Well for them the boat-keeper 
 was not killed, but 011I3' wounded, and in no danger of 
 losing his life. Were it otherwise, theirs would be 
 token on the spot. Assured of his safet3 r , his rescuers 
 pull the four wretches out of the boat ; then, disarming, 
 drag them up to the platform, and bestow them in the 
 larger cave, for a time to be their prison, though not 
 for long. There is a judge present, accustomed to sit 
 upon short trials, and pass quick sentences, soon fol- 
 lowed by execution. It is the celebrated Justice 
 Lynch. 
 
 Represented by a stalwart digger, all the others 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 399 
 
 acting as jury, the trial is speedily brought to a ter- 
 mination. For the four of Spanish nationality, the 
 verdict is guilty ; the sentence, death on the scaffold. 
 The others, less criminal, to be carried on to Panama, 
 and there delivered over, to the Chilian consul ; the 
 crime being mutiny, with robbeiy, and abandonment 
 of a Chilian vessel. An exception is made in the case 
 of Striker and Davis. The Sydney Ducks receive condi- 
 tional pardon, on promise of better behavior throughout 
 all future time. This they obtain b}- the intercession 
 of Harry Blew, in accordance with the hint he gave 
 them while they stood beside the spread tarpauli ng. 
 Of the four sentenced to be hanged, one meets his 
 fate in a different manner. The gold-dust has been 
 recovered, packed, and put into the boat. The ladies 
 are cloaked, and impatient to be taken back to the 
 bark, yearning to embrace him they so long believed 
 dead. The 3'oung officers stand beside them; all 
 awaiting the last scene of the tragedy, — the execu- 
 tion of the condemned criminals. The stage has been 
 set for it, this the level plot of ground in front of the 
 cavern's mouth. A rope hangs down with a runniug- 
 noose at one end ; the other, in default of gallows' arm 
 and branch of tree, rigged over the point of a project- 
 ing rock. All this arranged, De Lara is led out first, 
 a digger on each side of him. He is not tied, nor con- 
 fined in an}' way. They have no fear of his making 
 rscape Nor has he any thought of attempting it; 
 though he thinks of something else as desperate, and 
 more deadl}'. He will not die like a scared dog, but 
 as a fierce tiger ; to the last thirsting for blood, to the 
 end trying to destro}*, — to kill. The oath sworn to 
 Calderon on the cliff he is still determined on keeping. 
 As they conduct him out of the cave, his eyes, glaring 
 
100 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 with lurid light, go searching every where, till they rest 
 upon a group some twenty paces distant. It is com- 
 posed of four persons, Crozier and Carmen Montijo, 
 Cadwallader and Inez Alvarez, standing two and two. 
 At the last pair De Lara looks not, the first enchaining 
 his attention. Only one short glance he gives them ; 
 another to a pistol which hangs bolstered on the hip of 
 a gold-digger guarding him. A spring, and he has 
 possession of it ; a bound, and he is off from between 
 the two men, rushing on towards the group standing 
 apart. 
 
 Fortunately for Edward Crozier, for Carmen Mon- 
 tijo as well, there are cries of alarm, shouts of warning, 
 that reach him in time. He turns on hearing them, 
 sees the approaching danger, and takes measures to 
 avert it. Simple enough these, — but the drawing of 
 his revolver, and firing at the man who advances. 
 
 Two shots are heard, one on each side, almost simul- 
 taneous, but enough apart to decide which of the two 
 who fired must fail. Crozicr's pistol has cracked first ; 
 and, as the smoke of both swirls up, the gambler is 
 seen astretch upon the sward, blood spurting from his 
 breast, and spreading over his shirt-bosom. 
 
 Harry Blew, rushing forward, and bending over him, 
 cries out, "Dead! Shot through the heart, — brave 
 heart too ! What a pit} T 'twar so black ! " 
 
 " Coine away, mia" says Crozier to Carmen. 
 " Your father will be suffering from anxiet}\ You've 
 had enough of the horrible. Let us hope this will be 
 the end of it." 
 
 Taking his betrothed b}' the hand, hf leads hei 
 donm to the boat, Cadwallader with Inez accompany 
 ing them. 
 
 All seat themselves in the stern-sheets, and wait fo» 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 401 
 
 fche diggers, who soon after appear, conducting tbeir 
 prisoners, — the pirate crew of the " Condor, — short 
 four left behind, a banquet for the vultures and sea- 
 birds. 
 
 CHAPTER LIV. 
 a sailor's true yarn. 
 
 IT is the second day after the tragic scene upon the 
 isle ; and the Chilian bark has sailed away from 
 the Veraguan coast, out of that indentation known upon 
 modern maps as Montijo Bay. She has long since 
 rounded Cabo Mala, and is standing in for the port of 
 Panama. With a full crew, — most of them old and able 
 seamen, — no fear but she will reach it now. Crozier, 
 in command, has restored Harry Blew to his situation 
 of first officer, which, so far from having forfeited, he 
 is deemed to doubly deserve. But still weak from his 
 long privation, the ex-man-o' -war's man is excused 
 from dut}', Cadwallader doing it for him. Harry 
 is strong enough, however, to tell the 3'oung officers 
 what they are all ears to hear, — the stor} T of that Flag 
 of Distress. Their time hitherto takeu up attending 
 upon their fiancees, they have deferred calling for the 
 full account, which only the English sailor can give 
 them. Now having passed Cabo Mala, as if, with the 
 " wicked cape," all evil were left behind, they are in 
 the mood to listen to the strange narration in all its 
 details, and summon the chief officer to their side. 
 
 " Your honors!" he begins, "it's a twisted-up 
 yarn, from the start to tbe hour ye hove in sight; an' 
 
 34* 
 
402 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 if 3 e hadn't showed yerselves just in the nick o' time, 
 an' ta'en the twist out o' it, hard to say how 'twould 
 'a ended. No doubt, in all o' us dyin' on that desert 
 island, an' layin' our bones there. Thank the Lord 
 for our delivery — without any disparagement to what's 
 been done by both o' you, 3"oung gentlemen. For 
 that he must ha' sent you, an' has had a guidin' hand 
 throughout the whole thing, I can't help thinkin' when 
 I look back on the scores o' chances that seemed goin' 
 against the right, an' still sheered round to it, after 
 all." 
 
 " True," assents Crozier, honoring the devout faith 
 of the sailor. " You're quite right in ascribing it to 
 divine interference. Certainly, God's hand seems to 
 have been extended in our favor. But go on." 
 
 " Well, to commence at the beginnin', which is when 
 you left me in San Francisco. As I told Master Wil- 
 lie that da}' he come ashore in the dingy, I war engaged 
 to go chief mate in the Chili bark. She war then a 
 ship; afterward converted into a bark, as ye see, 
 through our shortness o' hands. When I went aboard 
 her, an' for scv'ral days after, I war the only thing in 
 the shape o' sailor she'd got. Then her captain — that 
 poor crazed creetur below — put advertisements in the 
 papers, offering big pay ; the which, as I then supposed, 
 brought eleven chaps, callin' themselves sailors, an' 
 shippin' as such. One o' 'em, for want o' a better, 
 wai made secon 1 mate ; his name bein' entered on 
 the books as Fadilla. lie war the last o' the three 
 swung up ; an', if ever man desarved hangin', he did, 
 bein' the cruellest scoundrel o' the lot. After we'd 
 waited another da}* or two, an' no more makin' appear 
 ance, the skipper made up his mind to sail. Then the 
 old gentleman, along wi' the two saynoreetas, came 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 403 
 
 aboard, when we cleared, an' stood out to sea. Afore 
 leavin' port, I had a suspishun about the sort o' crew 
 we'd shipped. Soon's we war fairly afloat, it got to 
 be sornethin' worse than suspishun : I war sartin then 
 we'd an ugly lot to deal with. Still I only believed 
 them to be bad men, an', if that war possible, worse 
 seamen. I expected trouble wi' them in sailin' the 
 vessel, an' a likelihood o' them bein' disobedient. 
 But, on the second night after leavin' land, I found out 
 somethin' o' a still darker stripe, — that they war neither 
 more nor less than a gang o' piratical conspirators, an' 
 had a plan arready laid out. A lucky chance led to me 
 discoverin' their infarnal design. The two we ve agreed 
 to let go — Striker an' Bill Davis, both old birds from 
 the convict gangs o' Australia — war talkin' it over 
 atween themselves ; an' I chanced to overhear them. 
 What they saved made every thin' clear — as it did my 
 hair to stand on eend. 'Twar a scheme to plunder the 
 ship o' the gold-dust Don Gregorio hed got in her, an' 
 carry off 3'our young ladies. Same time, they war 
 to scuttle the vessel, an' sink her, first knockin' the 
 old gentleman on the head, or drownding of him, as 
 well as the skipper. Your humble sarvint an' the 
 dark}' war to be disposed o' same sweet fashion. On 
 listenin' to the dyabolikal plot, I war clear dumfound- 
 ered, an' for a while didn't know what to do. 'Twar a 
 case o' life an' death to some o' us, an', for the sa} T - 
 noreetas, somethin' worse. At first, I thort o' tellin' 
 Capt. Lantanas an' also Don Gregorio. But then I 
 seed, if I shud, that 'twould only make death surer to 
 all as were doomed. I knowed the skipper to be a 
 man o' innocent, unsuspishus nature, an' mightn't gie 
 belief to such 'trocious rascality as bein' a thing possi- 
 ble. More like he'd let out right avai , an' bring on 
 
±04 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 the bloody bizness sooner than the} r intends d it. From 
 what Striker an' Davis said, I made out that it war to 
 be kept back till we should sight land near Panama. 
 After a big spell o' thinkin' , I seed a sort o' way out 
 of it, — the only one appearin' possible. 'Twar this 
 to purtend joinin' in wi' the conspirators, an' put my- 
 self at thar head. I'd larnt from the talk o' the twc 
 S3'dne3* Ducks, there war a split 'niong them, 'bout the 
 dividin' o' the gold-dust. I seed this would gie me a 
 chance to go in along wi' them. Takin' advantage o' 
 it, I broached the bizness to Striker that same night, 
 an' got into thar councils, arterwards obtainin' the 
 influence I wanted. Mind 3-e, gentlemen, it took a 
 smart show o' trickery an' manoauvrin'. Among other 
 things, I had to appear cool to the cabin people 
 throughout all the voyage, specially them two sweet 
 creeturs. Many's the time 1113' heart ached a-thinkin' 
 o' 3'ourself, sir, as also o' Master Willie, an' then o' 
 j T our sweethearts, an' what might happen, if I shed fail 
 in ni3 T plan for protectin' 'em. When the3 r wanted to 
 be free an' friendly, an' once began talkin' to me, I 
 bed to answer 'em gruff an' growlin' like, knowin' that 
 e3'es war on me all the while, an' ears a-listenin'. As 
 to tellin' them what was before, or givin' them the 
 slimmest hint o' it, that would 'a spoilt m3 r plans. 
 They'd 'a gone straight to the old gentleman, an' then 
 it would 'a been all up wi' us. 'Twar clear to me they 
 all couldn't then be saved, an' that Don Gregorio him- 
 self would hev to be sacrificed, as well as the skippei 
 an' cook. I thought that dreadful hard ; but thar war 
 no help ibr't, as I'd have enough on my hands in taidn' 
 care o' the women, without thinkin' o : the men. As 
 the Lord has allowed, an' thank him for it, ail have 
 been saved ! " 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 405 
 
 The speaker pauses in the fervor of his gratitude, 
 which his listeners respecting, in silence wait for him 
 to continue. He does so, saying, " At last, on sight- 
 in' land, as agreed on, the day had come for the doin' 
 o' their dark deed. It war after night when the}' set 
 about it, myself actin' as a sort o' recognized leader. 
 I'd played my part so's to get control o' the rest. We 
 first lowered a boat, put-tin' our things into her. Then 
 we separated, some to get out the gold-dust, others to 
 seize the saynoreetas. I let Gomez look after them, 
 for fear of bringin' on trouble too soon. Me an' Da- 
 vis — who chances to be a sort o' ship's carpenter — 
 were to do the scuttlin', an' for that purpose went 
 down into the hold. There I proposed to him to give 
 the doomed ones a chance for their lives by lettin' the 
 1 Condor ' float a bit longer. Though he be a convict, 
 he warn't nigh so bad as the rest. He consented to my 
 proposal, an' we returned on deck 'ithout tappin' the 
 bark's bottom timbers. Soon's I had my head over 
 the hatch-coamin', I seed them all below in the boat, 
 the girls along wi' them. I didn't know what they'd 
 done to the Don an' skipper. I had my fears about 'em, 
 thinkin' they might ha' been murdered, as Padilla had 
 proposed. But I daren't go down to the cabin then, lest 
 they might shove off, an' leave us in the lurch, as some 
 war threatenin' to do ; more than one wantin' it, I know. 
 If they'd done that — well, it's no use savin' what 
 might ha' been the upshot. I seed 'twould 'a knocked 
 all my plans on the head, an' tharfor hurried down 
 into the boat. Then we rowed right away, leavin' 
 the bark just as she'd been the whole o' that da} T . As 
 we pulled shoreward, we could see her standin' off, all 
 sails set, same as tho' the crew war aboard o' her, 
 workin' 'em." 
 
406 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 44 But her ensign reversed?" asks Cadwallader 
 -' She was carrying it so when we came across her 
 How came that, Harry ? ' ' 
 
 " Ah ! the bit o' buntin' upside down ! I did thai 
 overnight myself in the dark, thinkin' it might get 
 them a better chance o' bein' picked up." 
 
 " And }'OU did the very thing ! " exclaims Crozief 
 " I see the hand of Providence in that surely ! But 
 for the distress-signal, the ' Crusader ' would have kept 
 on without giving chase ; and — But proceed ! Tell 
 us what happened afterwards." 
 
 " Well, we landed on the island, not knowin' it to 
 be a island. An' theer's another o' the chances, 
 showin' we've been took care o' 1^ the little cherub as 
 sits up aloft. Ift hed been the mainland — well, I 
 needn't tell ye things would now be different. Arter 
 landin', we staid all night on the shore; the men 
 sleeping in the biggest o' the caves, while the ladies 
 occupied a smaller one. I took care 'bout that separa- 
 tion u^self, dctarmined tlie} T shouldn't come to no 
 harm that night. There war a thing happened which 
 I daresay they've told you ; an' 'twar from them I after- 
 wards larned that Gomez an' Hernandez war no other 
 than the two chaps you'd trouble wi' at San Francisco. 
 They went into the cave, an' said some insultin' things 
 to the saynereetas; but I warn' t fir off, an' would a 
 made short work wi' them, hed it goed further than 
 tall?:. Up at a early hour next niornin' , we found the 
 boat hed drifted off seaward, an' got bilged on the 
 breakers. But, supposin' we shouldn't want her anj 
 more, nobod}* thought an}- thin' about it. Then corned 
 the dividin' o' the gold-dus^. an' after it the great ques- 
 tyun — leastwise, so far as I war consarned — as to 
 who should take away the girls. I'd been waitin' f«n 
 
 i 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 40T 
 
 this ; an' now, for the settlin' o't, I war ready to do or 
 die. Gomez an' Hernandez war the two who laid claim 
 to 'em, as I knowed, an' expected they would. Pre- 
 tendin' a likin' for Miss Carmen myself, an' puttin" 
 Davis up to what I wanted, we, too, made our claim. It 
 ended in Gomez an' me goin' in for a fight, which 
 must 'a tarminated in the death o' one or other o' us. I 
 hed no dread o' clyin', onty from the fear o' its leavin' 
 the poor creeturs unprotected. But thar war no help 
 for't ; an' I agreed to the duel, which war to be fought, 
 first wi' pistols, an' finished up, if need be, wi' the 
 steel. Every thin' settled, we war 'bout settin'. to, 
 when one o' the fellows — who'd gone up the cliff to 
 take a look ahead — just then sung out that we'd 
 landed on a island. Recallin' the lost boat, we knew 
 that meant a drea'ful danger. In coorse it stopped the 
 fight ; an' we all rushed up to the cliff. When we saw 
 how things stood, there war no more talk o' quarellin'. 
 The piratical scoundrels war scared nigh out o' thar 
 senses, an' would 'a been glad to get back aboard the 
 craft the}-'d come out o' ; the which all, 'ceptin' Davis 
 an' myself, supposed to be at the bottom o' the sea. 
 After that, 'twar all safe, as far as consarned the sa}-- 
 noreetas. To them as would ha' took 'em, the} r wai 
 but a second thought in the face o' starvation, which 
 soon x amed the wolves down, an' kep 'em so till the 
 last o' the chapter. Now, gentlemen, ye knoAv how 
 Harry Blew hav behaved, an' can judge for yourselves 
 whether lie's kep the word he gied 3'ou 'fore leavin' San 
 Francisco." 
 
 " Behaved nobly, grandly ! *' cries Crozier. " Kept 
 your word like a man, like a true British sailor ! Come 
 to my arms, to my heart, Harry ! And forgive the 
 suspicions we had, not being able to help them. Here, 
 
408 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 
 
 Cad ! Take him to j-ours, and show hira how grateful 
 we both are to the man who has done moie for us than 
 saving our lives." 
 
 wt Bless you, Blew! God bless 3-011 ! " exclaims 
 Cadwallader, promptly responding to the appeal, and 
 holding Harry in a hug that threatens to strangle him. 
 
 The affecting scene is followed by an interval of pro- 
 found silence, broken 03' the voice of Grummet, who, 
 at the wheel, is steering straight into the port of Pana- 
 ma, now in sight. 
 
 "Mr. Crozier! " calls out the old cockswain, "ye 
 see that craft, sir, the one riding at anchor out 3 T on- 
 der in the roadstead? " 
 
 All turn their e3'es in the direction indicated ; soon 
 as they have done so, together exclaiming, the 
 "Crusader! " 
 
 The last scene of our story occurs at Cadiz, in a 
 grand cathedral church. Before its altar stand two 
 English naval officers, alongside each a beautiful Span- 
 ish damsel, soon to be his wedded wife. It scarce 
 needs to tell that the bridegrooms are Edward Crozier 
 and Willie Cadwallader. Nor need it be told who are 
 the brides, since the3 T are to be given away by Don 
 Gregorio Montijo. Nor is it necessaiy to describe the 
 ceremonial splendor of that double wedding, for long 
 time the great topic of Cadiz. Enough to say that 
 present at it are all the wealth and fashion of the old 
 Andalusian city, with foreign consuls, and the com- 
 manders of war-ships in the port, conspicuous amongst 
 these, Capt. Bracebridge, and the officers of H.B.M. 
 frigate " Crusader." Also two other men of the sea, 
 — of its merchant-service, to hear of whose presence 
 there will no doubt make the reader happy, as it does 
 
A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEA. 409 
 
 both brides and bridegrooms to see tlieni. The)' belong 
 to a ship lying in the harbor, carrying polacca-masts, 
 on her stern lettered " El Condor;" one of the two 
 being her captain, called Lantanas, the other her 
 chief officer, byname Blew. The good fates have been 
 fjst and kind to the gentle Chilian skipper, having 
 k>ng since lifted from his mind the cloud that tempora- 
 rily obscured it. He now knows all, above all, Harry 
 Blew in his true colors ; and though on the ' ' Condor's ' ' 
 deck they are still captain and mate, when below by 
 themselves in her cabin, all distinction of rank disap- 
 pears, and they are affectionate friends, almost as 
 brothers. In the prosperous trading-craft " Condor," 
 reconverted into her original ship-rig, regularly voy- 
 aging between Valparaiso and Cadiz, exchanging 
 the gold and silver of Chili for the silks and sweet 
 wines of Spain, but few recognize a bark once chased 
 over the South Seas, believed to be a spectre ; and it 
 is to be hoped no one will ever again see her sailing 
 ander a Flag op Distress. 
 
CAPTAIN MAINE REIB'S WORKS. 
 
 A Set of Books that is bound to give untold delight to boys of all ages is 
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 Afloat in the Forest. Cliff Climbers. Ocean Waifs. 
 
 Boy Hunters. Desert Home. Plant Hunters. 
 
 Boy Slaves. Flag of Distress. Ran Away to Sea. 
 
 Boy Tar. Forest Exiles. Stories About Animals. 
 
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 In all 18 vols., beautiful cloth, in box. Published price $22.50. Offered 
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