LI B R.AR.Y OF THL UNIVLR.SITY Of ILLINOIS 823 V.I ML. CENTRAL CIRCULATION AND BOOKSTACKS The person borrowing this material is responsible for its renewal or return before the Latest Date stamped belou-. You may be charged a minimum fee of $75.00 tor each non-returned or lost item. Theft, mutilation, or defacement of library materials can owned by the University of Illinois Library are the Article 1 6B of Illinois Criminal Law and Procedure . JO RENEW, CALL (217) 333-8400. University of Illinois Library at Urbana-Champaign FEB i im When renewing by phone, write new due date below previous due date. l 162 Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2009 with funding from University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign http://www.archive.org/details/flagofdistressta01reid THE FLAG OF DISTRESS : % Sinrg 0f ilgt ^ant)^ Sm BY CAPTAIN MAYNE EEID. IN THKEE VOLUMES. VOL. I. LONDON: TINSLEY BROTHERS, 8, CATHERINE STREET, STRAND 1876. [All Rights Reserved.] V 1 ^ TO CHARLES OLLIVANT, as a souvenir of friendship, and esteem, this story of the south sea. Mayne Reid. Chasbwood, Ross, Herefordshire. April, 1876. ■si ^ CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. A Chase 1 CHAPTEE, II. A Call for Boardebs 10 CHAPTER III. Forecastle Fears 17 CHAPTER IV. The Cutter's Crew 25 CHAPTER V. A Feast Unfinished 33 CHAPTER VI. A Phantom Ship — Sure 39 CHAPTER VII. A Black Squall 45 CHAPTER VIII. A Fleet of many Flags 56 VI CONTENTS. PAGE CHAPTER IX. A Brace of British OrncERs . . . .63 CHAPTER X. A Pair of Spanish Senoritas .... 74 CHAPTER XI. Mutual Admissions 81 CHAPTER XII. A Couple op Calipornian "Caballeros" . . 92 CHAPTER XIII. Confessions of Fear 104 CHAPTER XIY. A Sweet Pair of Suitors 116 CHAPTER XY. A Rude Rencontre 122 CHAPTER XYI. A Ship without Sailors 136 CHAPTER XVII. A Charter-party 148 CHAPTER XYIII. In Search of a Second 162 CHAPTER XIX. A Paseo de Caballo 176 CONTENTS. VU PAGE CHAPTER XX. Pot Valiant 190 CHAPTER XXI. A GoLPE DE Caballo 198 CHAPTER XXII. Hasta Cadiz 206 CHAPTER XXIII. On Pleasure Bent 219 CHAPTER XXIY. A Tar op the Olden Type 234 CHAPTER XXY. The Sailor's Home 241 CHAPTER XXYI. Opportune Visitors ...... 250 CHAPTER XXVn. An Inhospitable Hostelry 262 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. CHAPTER I. A CHASE. In mid-ocean — the Pacific. Two ships within sight of one another, less than a league apart. Both 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, yes ; a pro- bability strengthened by the relative size and character of the vessels. One is a barque, polacca- masted, her masts raking back with the acute shark' s-fin set supposed to be characteristic of the VOL. I. B 2 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 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 any seaman would say, after giving her a glance. And any lands- man might name her nationality. 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 colours might be accepted as surety of this, without regard to the relative position of the vessels ; which shew the frigate astern, the polacca leading. The latter also carries a flag — of nationality not so easily determined. Still it is the ensign of a naval power, though one of little note. The five-pointed white star, solitary in a blue field, proclaims it the standard of Chili. Why should an English frigate be chasing a Chilian barque ? There is no war between Great Britain and this, the most prosperous of the South A CHASE. 3 American republics. Instead, peace-treaties, with relations of the most amicable kind. Were the polacca shewing colours blood-red, or black, with death's-head and cross-bones, the chase would be intelligible. But the bit of bunting at her mast-head has nothing on its field either of menace or defiance. On the contrary, it appeals to pity, and asks for aid. For it is an ensign reversed — in short, a signal of distress. And yet the craft so signalling is scudding before a stiff breeze, with all sail set, stays taut, not a rope out of place ! Strange this ; and so considered by every one aboard the man-of-war, from the captain command- ing 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 a sail, and stood towards it. This without chang- ing course ; as, when first espied, the stranger, like herself, was running before the wind. If slowly, the pursuer has been gradually forging B 2 4 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. nearer the pursued ; till at length the telescope tells the latter to be a barque — at the same time revealing her ensign reversed. Nothing strange in this, of itself; unfortunately, a sight too common at sea. But that a vessel dis- playing signals of distress should be carrying 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 has the polacca been behaving — still behaves ; sailing on down the wind, without slacking haulyards, or lessening her spread of canvas by a single inch ! Certainly the thing seems strange. More than strange — it is mysterious. To this conclusion have they come on board the war-ship. And, naturally enough ; for there is that which has imbued their thoughts with a tinge of superstition. In addition to what they see, they have something heard. Within the week they have spoken two vessels, both of which reported this same barque, or one answering her A CHASE. O description : '' Polacca-masted, all sail set, ensign reversed.''' A Britisli 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 observed on board ; but on her being hailed, two men made appear- ance, both springing up to the main-shrouds ; thence answering the hail in a language altogether unintelligible, and with hoarse croaking voices that resembled the barking of muzzled mas- tiffs ! 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, was, that both appeared to be clothed in skin-dresses, which covered their bodies from head to foot ! Seeing the signal of distress, the brig would have sent her boat aboard ; but the barque gave no chance for this — keeping on without slacking 6 THE FLAG OF DISTEESS. sail, or shewing any other sign of a wish to com- municate ! Standing by itself, the tale of the brig's crew might have been taken for a sailor's yarn; and as they admitted it to be "almost night," the ob- scurity would account for the skin-clothing. But coupled with the report of another vessel, which the frigate had afterwards spoken — a whaler — it seemed to receive full corroboration. The words sent through the whaler's trumpet were : — ** Barque sighted^ latitude 10*22 ^S'., longitude 95 W. Polacca-masted. All sail set. Ensign reversed. Chilian. Men seen on hoard covered with red hair, supposed skin-dresses. Tried to come up, hut could not. Barque a fast sailer — went away down wind.^' Already in receipt of such intelligence, it is no wonder that the frigate's crew feel something more than mere curiosity about a vessel corresponding to the one of which these strange things have been said. For they are now near enough the barque to see that she answers the description A CHASE. 7 given : " Polacca-masted — all sail set — ensign reversed — Chilian . ' ' And her behaviour is as reported : sailing away from those who would respond to her appealing signal, to all appearance endeavouring 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 fast sailer; but although too swift for the brig and whaler, she is no match for the man-of-war. Still she makes swift way, and the chase is likely to be a long one. As it continues, and the distance does not ap- pear very much, or very rapidly, diminishing, the frigate's people begin to doubt whether the strange craft will ever be overtaken. On the fore-deck the tars stand in groups, mingled with marines, their eyes bent upon the retreating barque, making their comments in muttered tones, many of the men 8 " THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. witli brows o'ercast. For a fancy has sprung up around the forecastle, that the chased ship is no ship at all, but a phantom ! This is gradu- ally growing into a belief; faster as they draw nearer, and with naked eye note her correspon- dence with the reports of the spoken vessels. They have not yet seen the skin-clad men — if men they be. More like, imagine some, they will prove spectres ! While on the quarter-deck there is no such superstitious thought, a feeling almost as intense agitates the minds of those there assembled. The captain, surrounded by his officers, stands glass in hand gazing at the sail ahead. The frigate, though a fine sailer, is not one of the very fastest ; 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 declin- ing, which is against her ; and for the last half- hour she has barely preserved her distance from the barque. A CHASE. 9 To compensate for this, she runs out studding- sails on all her yards, even to the royals ; and again makes an effort to bring the chase to a ter- mination. But again to suffer disappointment. "To no purpose, now," says her commander, seeing 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 be- calmed." Those around need not be told this. The youngest reefer there, looking at sky and sea, can forecast a calm. In five minutes after, the frigate's sails go flapping against the masts, and her flag hangs half-folded. In five more, the canvass only shews motion by an occasional clout ; while the bunting droops dead downward. Within the ten, as her captain predicted, the huge war-ship lies motionless on the sea, its sur- face around her smooth as a swan-pond. CHAPTER II. A CALL FOE BOARDERS. The frigate is becalmed — what of the barque? Has she been siniilarly stayed in her course ? The question is asked by all on board the war- ship, each seeking the answer for himself. For all are earnestly gazing at the strange vessel re- gardless of their own condition. Forward, the superstitious thought has become intensified into something like fear. A calm coming on so suddenly, just when they had hopes of soon overhauling the chase ! What could that mean ? Old sailors shake their heads, refusing to make answer ; while young ones, less cautious of speech, boldly pronounce 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 A CALL FOR BOARDERS. 11 receding vessel ; for beyond doubt she is yet sail- ing 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 folio win' her ; and for my part, I'll be glad if we never do catch up with her." ** You need have no fear about it," says the first speaker. "Just look! She's making way yet ! I believe she can sail as well without a wind as with it." Scarce are the words spoken, when, as if to contradict them, the sails of the chased vessel commence clouting against her masts ; while her flag falls folded, and is no longer distinguishable either as signal of distress, or aught else. The breeze that failed the frigate, is also now dead around the barque, which, in like manner, has been caught- in the calm. 12 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. " What do you make her out, Mr. Black ?" asks the frigate's captain of his first, as the two stand looking through their levelled glasses. "Not anything, sir,'^ replies the lieutenant; "except that she should be Chilian from her colours. I can't see a soul aboard of her. Ah, yonder ! Something shows over the taffrail ! Looks like a man's head? It's down again — ducked suddenly." A short silence succeeds, the commanding officer busied with his binocular, endeavouring to catch sight of the thing seen by his subordinate. It does not shew again. " Odd," says the captain, resuming speech; " a ship running up signals of distress, at the same time refusing to be relieved ! Yery odd ! Isn't it, gentlemen?" he asks addressing himself to the group of officers now gathered around ; who all signify assent to his interrogatory. " There must be something amiss," he con- tiiiues. "' Can any of you think what it is ?" To this, there is a negative response. They are as much puzzled as himself, mystified by the A CALL FOR BOARDERS. 13 strange barque, and more by ber strange be- baviour. Tbere are two wbo bave tbougbts different from tbe rest — tbe tbird lieutenant, and one of tbe midsbipmen. Less tbougbts, tban imaginings ; and tbese so vague, tbat neitber communicates tbem to tbe Captain, nor to one anotber. And wbatever tbeir fancies, tbey do not appear pleasant ones ; since on tbe faces of botb is an expression of sometbing like anxiety. Sligbt and little observ- able, it is not noticed by tbeir comrades standing around. But it seems to deepen, wbile tbey con- tinue to gaze at tbe becalmed barque, as tbougb due to sometbing tbere observed. Still tbey re- main silent, keeping tbe dark tbougbt, if sucb it be, to tbemselves. " Well, gentlemen," says tbe commanding officer to bis assembled subordinates, " I must say tbis is singular. In all my experience at sea, I don't remember anytbing like it. Wbat trick tbe Cbilian barque — if sbe be Cbilian — is up to, I can't guess ; not for tbe life of me. It cannot be 14 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. a case of piracy. 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 which, we'll have to send a boat to her." ** I don't think we'll get a very willing crew, sir," says the first lieutenant suggestively. "For- ward, they're quite superstitious about the char- acter of the chase. Some of them fancy her the Flying Dutchman. When the boatswain pipes for boarders, they'll feel as if his whistle were a signal for them to walk the plank." The remark causes the captain to smile, as the other officers; though two of the latter abstain from such cheerful demonstration. These are the third lieutenant and midshipman — already men- tioned — on both of whose brows the cloud still sits, seeming darker than ever. " Very strange," remarks the commander, mu- singly, "how this sort of feeling still affects the forecastle ! For your genuine British tar, who'll board an enemy's ship, crawling across the muzzle of a shotted gun — has no fear of death A CALL FOR BOARDERS. 15 in human shape — will act like a scared child when it threatens him in the guise of his Satanic majesty ! I have no douht, as you say, Mr. Black, that those feUows forward are a bit shy about boarding yonder vessel. Let me shew you how to send their shyness adrift. I'U do that with a single word ! " The captain steps forward, his subordinates following him. When within speaking distance of the fore-deck, he stops, and makes sign he has something to say. The tars are all attention. " My lads ! " he exclaims, " you see that barque we've been chasing ; and at her mast-head a flag reversed — which you know to be a signal of dis- tress ? That is a caU never to be disregarded by an English ship, much less an English man-of-war. Lieutenant ! order a boat lowered, and the boatswain to pipe for boarders. Only volunteers. Now those of you who wish to go, muster on the main-deck." A loud "hurrah!" responds to the appeal; and, while its echoes are still resounding thi'ough the ship, the whole crew comes crowding towards 16 THE FLAG OF DISTBESS. the main-deck. Scores of volunteers present them- selves, enough to man every boat aboard. *' So, gentlemen ! " says the captain, turning to his officers with a proud expression on his coun- tenance, " there's the British sailor for you. I've said he fears not man. jind, when humanity makes call, as you see, neither is he frightened at ghost or devil ! " A second cheer succeeds the speech, mingled with good-humoured remarks, though not much laughter. The sailors simply acknowledge the compliment their commanding officer has paid them, at the same time feeling 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 becomes greatly diminished. Still there are enough to man the largest boat in the frigate, or fight any crew the chased craft may carry, though they prove pirates of the most^. desperate kiud. CHAPTER in. FORECASTLE FEARS. *' What boat is it to be, sir ? " This question asked by the first lieutenant, who has followed the captain to the quarter. "The cutter," replies his superior; "there seems no need, Mr. Black, to send anything larger — at least, till we get word of what's wanted. Possibly it's a case of sickness — scurvy or some- thing. Though that would be odd too, seeing how the barque keeps her canvas spread. Very queer altogether ! " " Is the doctor to go ?" " He needn't, till we've heard what it is. He'd only have to come back for his drugs and instru- ments. You may instruct him to be getting them ready. Meanwhile, let the boat be ofi", and quick. VOL. I. c 18 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. When they bring back their report, we'll see what's to be done. The cutter's crew will be quite sufficient. As to any hostility from those on board the stranger, that's absurd. We could blow her out of the water with a single broad- side." " Who's to command the boat, sir ? " The captain reflects, with a look sent inquir- ingly around. His eye falls upon the third lieu- tenant, who stands near, seemingly courting the glance. It is short and decisive. The captain knows his third officer to be a thorough seaman ; though young, capable of any duty, however delicate, or dangerous. Without further hesitation, he as- signs him to the command of the cutter. The young officer enters upon the service with alacrity — as if moved by something more than the mere obedience due to discipline. He hastens to the ship's side to superintend the lowering of the boat. Nor does he stand at rest, but is seen to help and hurry it, with a look of restless impa- FORECASTLE FEARS. 19 tience in his eye, and the shadow still observable on his brow. While thus occupied, he was accosted by another officer, one yet younger than himself — the midship- man already mentioned. " Can I go with you ? " the latter asks, as if addressing an equal. " Certainly, my dear fellow," responds the lieutenant, in like familiar tone. " I shall be only too pleased to have you. But you must get the captain's consent." The young officer glides aft, sees the frigate's commander upon the quarter-deck, and saluting, says : *' Captain, may I go with the cutter ? " "Well, yes," responds the chief; "I have no objection." Then, after taking a survey of the youngster, he adds : *' Why do you wish it ? " The youth blushes, without replying. There is a cast upon his countenance that strikes the ques- tioner, somewhat puzzling him. But there is no time either for further inquiry or reflection. The c 2 20 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. cutter is already lowered, and rests upon the water. Her crew is crowding into her ; and she will soon be shoved off from the ship. " You can go, lad," assents the captain. " Ke- port 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 boarding a ship in distress, where you'll be more likely to be a spectator to scenes of suffering. However, that will be a lesson for you ; and therefore you can go." Thus authorised, the young reefer hurries away from the quarter-deck, drops down to the boat, and takes seat alongside the lieutenant, already in it. " Shove off," commands the latter ; and with a push of boat-hook, and plashing of oars, the cutter parts from the ship's side, cleaving the water like a knife. ^ ^ ^ ^ ■^ ^ The two vessels still lie becalmed, in the same FORECASTLE FEARS. 21 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, blowing gently against their sails, forsook them. On both, the canvas is still spread, though not bellied. It hangs limp and loose, giving an occa- sional flap, so feeble as to show that this proceeds not from any stir in the air, but the mere balancing motion of the vessels. For there is now not enough breeze blowing to flout the long feathers in the tail of the Tropic bird, seen soaring aloft. Both are motionless ; their forms reflected in the water, as if each had its counterpart keel to keel. Between them, the sea is smooth as a mirror — that tranquil calm which has given to the Pacific its distinctive appellation. It is now only disturbed, furrowed by the keel of the cutter, with her stroke of ten oars, five on each side. Parting from the frigate's beam, she is steering straight for the becalmed barque. 22 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 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 eye this hinders minute observation. 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. They can perceive that its colour is crimson above, with blue and white underneath — the reversed order of the Chilian ensign. Its single star is no longer visible, nor aught of that heraldry, which spoke so appealingly. But if what they see fails to furnish them with details, these are amply supplied by their excited imaginations. Some of them can make out men aboard the barque — scores, hundreds ! After all, she may be a pirate, and the upside-down ensign a decoy. On a tack, she might be a swifter sailer than she has shewn herself before the wind ; FORECASTLE FEARS. 23 and, knowing this, has been but "playing pos- sum" 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, fancy the polacca a spectre. As they con- tinue gazing, now at the boat, now at the barque, 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 ofi&cers, each with glass to his eye, levelled upon the strange craft. But they can perceive nought to give them a clue to her character ; only the loose spread sails, and the furled flag of dis- tress. They continue gazing till the cutter is close to the barque's beam. Nor then do they observe any head above the bulwarks, or face peering through the shrouds ! 24 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. The fancy of the forecastle seems to have crept aft among the officers. They too begin to feel something of superstitious fear — an awe of the uncanny ! CHAPTER IV. THE CUTTER S CREW. Manned by ten stout tars, and as many oars pro- pelling her, the cutter continues her course with celerity. The lieutenant, seated in the stern- sheets, the midshipman by his side, directs the movements of the boat ; while the glances of both are kept constantly upon the barque. In their eyes is an earnest expression — quite different from that of ordinary interrogation. The men may not observe it ; if they do, it is without 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 barque, they cast occa- sional glances over their shoulders, in which curi- osity is less observable than apprehension. Despite their natural courage, strengthened by 26 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. the late appeal to their humanity, the awe is strong upon them. Insidiously returning as they took their seats in the boat, it increases as they row- farther from the frigate, and draw nearer to the barque. Less than half an hour has elapsed, and they are now within a cable's length of the strange vessel. *' Hold !" commands the lieutenant. The oar- stroke is instantly suspended, and the blades held aloft. The boat gradually loses way, and at length rests stationary on the tranquil water. All eyes are bent upon the barque ; glances go searchingly along her bulwarks, from poop to prow. No preparations to receive them ! No one appears on deck — not a head raised over the rail ! " Barque, ahoy ! " hails the lieutenant. " Barque, ahoy ! " is heard in fainter tone ; but not in answer. Only the echo of the officer's voice, coming back from the hollow timbers of the becalmed vessel ! THE cutter's crew. 27 There is again silence, more profound than ever; for the sailors in the boat have ceased talking, their awe, now intense, holding them speechless and as if spellbound ! *' Barque, ahoy ! " again shouts the lieutenant, louder than before, but with like result. As be- fore, he is only answered by echo. There is either nobody aboard, or no one who thinks it worth while to make rejoinder. The first supposition seems absurd, looking at the sails ; the second, equally so, regarding the flag at the main royal mast-head, and taking into account its character. A third hail from the of&cer, this time voci- ferated in loudest voice, with the interrogatory added : " Any one aboard there ? " To the question no reply, no more than to the hail. Silence continues — stillness profound, awe- inspiring. They in the boat begin to doubt the evidence of their senses. Is there a barque before 28 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. their eyes ? Or is it all an illusion ? How can a vessel be under sail — full sail — without sailors ? And if any, why do they not shew at her side ? Why have they not answered the hail thrice given ; the last time loud enough to be heard within the depths of her hold? It should have awakened her crew, even though all were asleep in the fore- castle ! "Give way again!" cries the lieutenant. *' Bring up on the starboard side, coxswain! Under the fore-chains." The oars are dipped, and the cutter moves on. But scarce is she in motion, when once more the officer commands : " Hold ! " With his voice mingle others, coming from the barque. Her people seem at length to have become aroused from their sleep, or stupor. A noise is heard upon her deck, as of a scuffle, accompanied by cries of strange intonation. Presently two heads, apparently human, shew above the bulwarks ; two faces flesh-coloured, and thinly covered with hair ! Then two bodies appear, THE cutter's crew. 29 also human-like, save that they are hairy all over — the hair of a foxy red ! They swarm up the shrouds ; and clutching the ratlines, shake them with quick violent jerks; at the same time utter- ing what appears angry speech, in an unknown tongue, and harsh voice, as if chiding off the in- truders. They go but a short way up the shrouds, just as far as they could spring from the deck, and only staying there for an instant. Then they drop down again, disappearing as abruptly and uncere- moniously, as they had shewn themselves ! The lieutenant's command to " Hold ! " was a word thrown away. Without it the men would have discontinued their stroke. They have done so ; and sit with bated breath, eyes strained, ears listening, and lips mute, as if all had been sud- denly and simultaneously struck dumb. Silence throughout the boat — silence aboard the barque — 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 mute, not 30 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. one essaying to speak word. They are silent, less from surprise than sheer stark terror. Fear is depicted on their faces, observable in their at- titudes, 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 ship manned by haiij 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 ; almost the same with their breath. One alone, at length, musters sufficient courage to mutter : "Gracious goodness, shipmates ; what can it mean ? " He receives no answer, though his question brings the silence to an end. It is now further broken by the voice of the lieutenant, and with that of the junior officer. They do not speak simultane- ously, but one after the other. The superstitious fear pervading the minds of the men does not extend to them. They too have their fears, but of THE cutter's crew. 31 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 ratHnes — strange to the sailors — seems to have made things more intel- ligible to them. Judging by the expression upon their faces, they comprehend what is puzzling their companions. And with a sense of anxiety more than fear — more of doubt than dismay. The lieutenant speaks first, shouting in com- mand : " Give way ! Quick ! Pull in ! Head on for the fore-chains ! " He acts in an excited manner, appearing ner- vously impatient; and, as if mechanically, the midshipman repeats the order, imitating the mien of his superior. The men execute it, but slowly, and with seeming reluctance. They know their officers to be daring fellows, both. But now they deem them rash, even to recklessness. For they 32 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. cannot comprehend the motives urging them to action. Still they obey; and the prow of the boat strikes the barque abeam. " Grapple on ! " commands the senior officer, soon as touching. A boat-hook takes grip in the chains ; and the cutter, swinging round, lies at rest alongside. The lieutenant has already risen to his feet, as also the mid. Ordering only the coxswain 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 seat on the thwarts, in wonder at the bold bearing of their officers, at the same time admiring it. CHAPTEE y. A FEAST UNFINISHED. Having gained the bulwarks, the young officers, balancing themselves on the rail, look down over the decks of the polacca. Their glances sweep them forward, aft, and amid-ships ; ranging from stem to stern, and back again. Nothing seen there to explain the strangeness of affairs ; nothing heard. No sailor on the fore- deck, nor officer on the quarter ! Only the two strange creatures that had shewn themselves on the shrouds. These are still visible, one of them stand- ing by the main-mast, the other crouching near the caboose. Both again give out their jabbering speech, accompanying it with gestures of menace. Disregarding that, the lieutenant leaps down upon the deck, and makes towards them ; the mid and coxswain keeping close after. VOL. I. D 34 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. At their approach, the 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, they shufile off over the quarter, and 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 mid- shipman seem excited by other thoughts — some stronger impulse urging them on. Alone is the coxswain mystified by the hairy men, and not a little alarmed ; but, without speaking, he follows his superiors. All continue on toward the quarter-deck, mak- ing for the cabin door. Having boarded the barque by the fore-chains, they must pass the caboose going aft. Its sliding panel is open, and when opposite, the 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 A FEAST UNFINISHED. 35 singular to detain them. It is more than singular — it is startling. On the bench in front of the galley fire — which shews as if long extinguished — sits a man, bolt upright, his back against the bulkhead. Is it a man, or but the semblance of one ? Certainly it is a human figure ; or, speak- ing more precisely, a human skeleton with the skin still on ; this black as the coal-cinders in the grate in front of it. It is a man, a negro, and living ! For at sight of them he betrays motion, and makes an attempt to speak. Only the coxswain stays to listen, or hear what he has to say. The others hurry on aft, making direct for the door of the cabin ; which, between decks is approached by a stairway. Reaching this they rush down, and stand before the door, which they find shut. Only closed, not locked. It yields to the turning of the handle ; and, opening, gives them admission. They enter hastily, one after the other, without ceremony or announcement. Once inside, they D 2 36 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 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 they have entered ; not a large one, for the polacca has not been intended to carry passengers. Still is it snug, and roomy enough for a table six feet by four. Such a one stands in the centre, its legs fixed in the floor, with four chairs around it, similarly stanchioned. On the table there are decanters and dishes, alongside 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 indications of wine having been poured out into the glasses, some of them still containing it. There are four sets, corresponding to the four chairs ; and, to all appearance, this number of guests have been seated at the table. But two of the chairs are empty, as if those who occupied them had retired to an inner state-room. It is the A FEAST UNFINISHED. 37 side-seats that are vacant, and a fan lying on one, with a scarf over the back of that opposite, pro- claim their last occupants to have been ladies. Two guests are still at the table ; one at its head, the other at the foot, facing each other. And such guests ! Both are men, though, unlike him in the caboose, 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 neither ; for their eyes, glancing and glaring, still shew life. But there is little other evidence of it. Sitting stiff in the chairs, rigidly erect, they make no attempt to stir, no motion of either body or limbs ; which seem as if from both all strength had departed, their famished figures denoting the last stages of starvation ! And this in front of a table furnished with choice wines, fruits, and other comestibles ; in short, loaded with delicacies ! What can it mean ? Not this question, but a cry comes from the 38 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. lips of the two officers, as they stand regarding the strange tableau. Only for an instant. Then the lieutenant, rushing up the stair, and on to the side, calls out : '^ Back to the ship, and bring the doctor ! Kow with all your might, men. Away ! " The boat's crew, obedient, pull off with alacrity. They are but too glad to get away from the sus- pected spot. As they strain at their oars, with faces now turned toward the barque, and eyes wonderingly bent upon her, they see nought to give them a clue to the conduct of their officers, or in any way elucidate the series of mysteries, prolonged to a chain and still continuing. One imbued with a strong belief in the supernatural, shakes his head, saying : " Shipmates, we may never see that lieutenant again, nor the young reefer, nor the old cox — never ! " CHAPTER VI. *'A PHANTOM SHIP — SURE I During all this while those on board the man-of- war have been regarding the barque — at the same time watching with interest every movement 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 their tele- scopes. 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 barque is more dense than else- 40 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. where, as if steam were passing off from her sides ; and through it objects shew very con- fusedly. While the frigate's people are straining their eyes to make out the movement of the cutter, an officer, of shai-per sight than the rest, cries : " See the cutter coming back ! " All perceive this, and with some surprise. It is not ten minutes since the boat grappled on. Why returning so soon ? While they 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 must have remained behind. This causes neither alarm, nor uneasiness, to the frigate's officers. They take it that the three have gone aboard the barque, and for some reason, whatever it be, elected to stay there. They know the third lieutenant to be not only " A PHANTOM SHIP — SURE ! " 41 bra Ye, but a man of quick decision, and prompt also to act. He has boarded the distressed vessel, discovered the cause of distress, and sends 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 firearms ; and savages might use other, and less noisy, weapons. The tale of the skin-clad crew gives colour to this supposition. But then the cutters went armed — in addition to their cutlasses, being pro- vided with pikes and boarding-pistols. Had they been attacked, they would not have retreated without discharging these last — less likely leav- ing three of their number behind. But there have been no signs of strife, or struggle, seen! All the more mystery ; and pondering upon it, 42 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. the frigate's crew are but strengthened in their superstitious faith. Meanwhile, the cutter is making way 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 recognised ; when it is seen that neither of the two officers is in the boat ! Nor the coxswain — 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 distin- guished, there is observed upon them an expres- sion which none can interpret. No one tries. All stand silently waiting till the cutter comes along- side, and sweeping past the bows, brings up on the frigate's starboard beam, under the main- chains. The officers move forward along the gangway, "a phantom ship — suee!" 43 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 dis- appointment. There is no news from the barque, save the meagre scrap contained in the lieutenant's order : ** Back to the ship, and bring the doctor." Beyond this the cutter's crew only know that they have seen the hairy men. Seen and heard them, though without understanding a word of what they said. Two had sprung upon the shrouds, and shouted at the cutter's people, as if scolding them off ! The tale spread 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 strange enough ; while for- ward, it further intensifies the belief in something supernatural. The tars give credulous ear to one who cries out : " That's a Phantom ship — sure ! " Their other comrade, repeating what he said in the boat, and in the self- same words : 44 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. " Shipmates, we may never see that lieutenant again, nor the young reefer, nor the old cox — never ! " The boding speech seems a prophecy on the instant realised. 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. While the men have been commenting upon the message brought back from the barque, and the officers are taking steps to hasten its execu- tion — the doctor getting out his instruments, with such medicines as the occasion seems to call for — the strange vessel has been for a time un- thought of. The cry just raised recalls her, causing all to rush towards the frigate's side, and once more bend their eyes on the barque. No, not on her; only in the direction where she was last seen. For, to their intense astonish- ment, the polacca has disappeared. CHAPTER YII. \ A BLACK SQUALL. The astonishment caused by the disappearance of the strange vessel is but short-lived — ex- plained by the very natural phenomenon — a fog. Not the haze already spoken of; but a dense bank of dark vapour, that, drifting over the surface of the sea, has suddenly enveloped the barque within its floating folds. It threatens to do the same with the frigate, as every sailor in her can perceive. But though their surprise is at an end, a sense of undefined fear still holds possession of them. Nor is this due to the fast approaching fog. That could not frighten men who have dared every danger of the deep, and oft groped their way through icy seas shrouded in almost amorphous darkness. 46 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. Their fears spring from the old fancy, that the other phenomena are not natural. The fog of itself may he ; hut what brings it on — just then — at a crisis, when they were speculating about the character of the chased vessel — some doubt- ing her honesty, others sceptical of her reality, not a few boldly pronouncing her as a phantom ? If an accident of nature, certainly a remarkable one — in truth, a startling phenomenon. The reader may smile 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. Not all the training of naval schools, nor the boasted enlightenment of this our 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: A BLACK SQUALL. 47 " Behold the believers in supernatural existences — in spirit-rappings — ay, in very ghosts; this not only in days gone by, but now — now more than ever within memory of man ! " Then let not landsmen scoff at such fancies, not a whit more absurd than their own credence in spirit- ualism. Aside from this sort of feeling in the war- ship, there is soon a real and far more serious cause for apprehension, in which all have a share — officers as men. A fog is before their eyes^ — apparently drifting towards them. It has curtained the other vessel, spreading over her like a pall, and will surely 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 its name to cause uneasiness about the safety of their ship ; though not of her are they thinking ; she is a strong vessel, and can stand the sea's buffetings. Their anxiety is for thcu- ship- 48 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. mates, 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 gone aboard the barque ? The strange craft had been signalling distress. Is it scarcity of provisions, or want of water ? In either case she will be worse off than ever. It cannot be shortness of hands to work her sails, with these all set ! Sickness, then ? Some scourge afflict- ing her crew — cholera, or yellow fever? Some- thing of the kind seems probable, by the lieu- tenant 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, wet- ting it till big drops clout down upon the deck. It is no longer a question of the surgeon starting forth on his errand of humanity, nor the cutter returning to the becalmed barque. There A BLACK SQUALL. 49 would be no more likelihood of discovering the latter, than of finding a needle in straw. In such a fog, the finest ship that ever sailed sea, with the smartest crew that ever vessel carried, would be helpless as a man groping his way in Cim- merian darkness. There is no more thought of the barque, and not much about the absent officers. Out of sight, they are for a time almost out of mind. For on board the frigate every one has enough to do looking after himself and his duties. Almost on the instant of her sails being enveloped in vapour, they are struck by a strong 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 all canvas to be instantly taken in. The order is executed with the promptness peculiar to men-of-war's men ; and soon after, the huge ship is tossing amid tempestuous waves, with only storm- sails set. VOL. I. E 50 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 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 elements, which may well cause anxiety. And such is the situation of the British frigate, soon as surrounded by the fog. The sea, lately tranquil, is now madly raging ; the waves tempest- lashed, their crests like the manes of white horses going in headlong gallop. Amid them the huge war-vessel, but the moment before motionless — a leviathan, apparently the sea's lord — is now its slave, and soon may be its victim. Dancing like a cork, she is buffeted from billow to billow, or bounding into the trough between, as if cast there in scorn. The frigate's crew is now fully occupied taking care of her, without time to reflect of any other vessel — even one flying a flag of distress. Ere long they may have to hoist the same signal them- selves. But there are skilled seamen aboard, who well know what to do — who watch and ward every sea that comes sweeping along. Some of A BLACK SQUALL. 51 these tumble the big ship about, till the steers- men 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 may not elect to run down the wind. Even if she did, there would be but slight hope of over- hauling her, supposing the storm to continue for any considerable time. The probabilities are that she will lie to. As the naval lieutenant will no doubt have control, he would order her sails to be taken in. Surely he will not think of parting from that spot. Thus reflecting, the frigate's captain determines upon " lying to," and keep as near the place as possible. Everything has been made snug, and the ship's head set close to wind. E 2 LIBRARY IIWIUFDQITV riF llflNOIf? 52 THE FLAG OP DISTRESS. Still, aboard of lier, brave hearts are filled with dark fears and sad forebodings ; not for themselves, but the safety of their shipmates on the barque. Both of the absent of&cers are favourites with their comrades of the quarter, as with the crew. So too the coxswain who 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 com- mitted themselves. 'Tis only sure, that in the tempest now raging there must be danger to the stranger craft, without counting that signalized by the reversed ensign — without thought of the mystery already enwrapping her. The heart of every one on board the war- ship is beating with humanity, as pulsing with pent-up fear. And while the waves are pitching her almost on her beam-ends — while winds are rattling loud amidst her rigging — a yet louder sound mingles with their monotone. It is given out at regularly measured intervals : for it is the minute- gun which the frigate has commenced firing — not as a A BLACK SQUALL. 53 signal of distress, asking for assistance; but one of counsel and cheer, seeking to give it. Every sixty seconds, amidst the wild surging of waves, and the hoarse howling of winds, the louder boom of cannon breaks their harsh continuity. 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 it all she keeps discharging her signal- guns; though no one thinks of listening for a response. In all probability there is no cannon aboard the barque — nothing that could give it. Close upon the hour of morning, the storm begins to abate, and the clouds to dissipate. Th fog seems to be lifting, or drifting off to some other part of the ocean. And with hope again dawning comes the dawn of day. The crew of the frigate — every man of them, officers and tars — are upon deck. They 54 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. stand along the ship's sideSj ranged in rows by 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 lazily along. Over these the sailors look, scanning 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 eye, nor telescope, can discover aught there. Only sea and sky ; an albatross with pinions of grand spread; or a Tropic bird, its long tail-feathers trailing trainlike behind it. No barque, polacca-rigged or other- wise — no 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 the war-vessel is imbued A BLACK SQUALL. 55 with a strange sense of sadness. But all are silent ; each inquiring of himself what has be- come of the barque, and what the fate of their shipmates. One alone is heard speaking aloud, giving ex- pression to a thought, now common to all. It is the sailor who twice uttered the prediction, which, for the third time, he repeats — changing it to the assertion of a certainty. To the group gathered around him, he says : " Shipmates ; we'll never see that lieutenant again, nor the young reefer, nor the old cox — never ! " CHAPTEE VIII. A FLEET OF MANY FLAGS. Scene, San Francisco, the capital of California. Time, the autumn of 1849 ; several weeks anterior to the chase recounted. A singular city the San Francisco of 1849 ; very different from that 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 puehlita, port of the Mission Dolores, built of sun-dried bricks — its petty commerce in hides and tallow, represented by two or three small craft annually arriving — wakes up one morning to behold whole fleets of ships sailing in through the Golden Gate, and dropping anchor A FLEET OF MANY FLAGS. 57 tliere, in front of its shingly strand. They come from all parts of the Pacific, from all the other oceans, from the ends of the earth, carrying every kind of flag known to the nations. The whale man, late harpooning *' fish " in the Arctic ocean, with him who has been chasing " cachalot '* in the Pacific or Indian ; the merchantman standing towards Australia, 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, corvettes, and double- deckers ; even Chinese junks and Malayan prahus — are seen setting into San Francisco Bay, and bringing to beside the wharfless beach of Yerba Buena. What has caused this grand spreading of canvas, and commingling of queer craft ? What is still causing it ; for still they 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 58 THE FLAa OF DISTRESS. before, the Swiss emigre Sutter, scouring out his mill-race on a tributary of the Sacramento Eiver, observes shining particles among the mud. Taking them up, and holding them in the hollow of his hand, he feels that they 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 discovered the precious metal in grains, and nuggets, interspersed with the silt of a fluvial deposit. They were 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 outside world. Less than two years have elapsed since the dig- ging of Sutter's mill-race. Meantime, the specks that scintillated in its ooze have been transported over the ocean, and exhibited in the great cities — in the windows of brokers, and bullion-merchants. The sight has proved sufficient to thickly people the banks of the Sacramento — hitherto sparsely A FLEET OF MANY FLAGS. 59 settled — and cover San Francisco Bay with ships from every quarter of the globe. Not only is the harbour 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 tongues, the like never listened to since the abortive attempt at building the tower of Babel. The Mexican mud-walled dwellings soon disap- pear ; swallowed up and lost amidst the modern surrounding of canvas tents, and weather-board houses, that rise as by magic around them. A like change takes place in their occupancy. No longer the tranquil interiors — the tertulia, with guests sipping aniseed, cura^oa, and Canario — munching sweet cakes and confituras. Instead, the houses inside now ring with boisterous revelry, smelling of mint and Monongahela ; and, though the guitar still tinkles, it is almost inaudible amid the louder strains of clarionet, fiddle, and French horn. What a change in the traffic of the streets ! No 60 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 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 mantillas ; bolder still, salut- ing the brown-skinned daughters of the aboriginal wrapped in their blue-gray rehozos. Trodden, too, by garrison soldiers in uniforms of French cut and colour ; by officers glittering in gold lace ; by townsmen in cloaks of broadcloth ; the country gentlemen (haciendados), on horseback; and the herdsmen, or small farmers (rancheros), in their splendid Californian costume. True, some of these are still seen, but not as of yore, swaggering and conspicuous. Amid the concourse of new comers they move timidly, jostled by rough men in red flannel shirts, buck- skin and blanket coats, with pistols in their belts, and knives hanging handy along their hips. By others equally formidable, in Guernsey frocks, or wearing the dreadnought jacket of the sailor ; not a few scarce clothed at all, shrouding their A FLEET OF MANY FLAGS. 61 nakedness in sucli rags as remain after a long journey overland, or a longer voyage by sea. In all probability, since its beginning, the world never witnessed so motley an assemblage of men, tramping through the streets of a seaport town, as those seen in Yerba Buena, rechristened San Francisco, in the year of our Lord 1849. And perhaps never a more varied display of bunting in one bay. In all certainty, harbour never held so large a fleet of ships with so few men to man them. At least one-half are crewless, and a goodly proportion of the remainder almost so. Many have but their captains and mates, with, it may be, the carpenter and cook. The forecastle fellows are ashore, and but few of them intend returning aboard. They are either gone off to the gold-diggings, or are going. There has been a general dehandade among the Jack- tars — leaving many a merry deck in forlorn and silent solitude. In this respect, there is a striking contrast between the streets of the town and the ships 62 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. lying before it. In the 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 vessels — many of them splendid craft — were laid up for good, and never again going to sea. And many never did, their hulks to this day, like the skeletons of stranded whales, seen lying along the beach that was once Yerba Buena ! CHAPTEK IX. A BRACE OF BRITISH OFFICERS. Notwithstanding the abnormal condition of naval affairs above described, and the difficulties to be dealt with, not all the vessels in San Francisco Bay are crewless. A few still retain their full complement of hands — these being mostly men- of-war ; where strict discipline prevents desertion, though it needs strategy to assist. They ride at anchor far out, beyond swimming distance from the beach, and will not allow shore-boats to ap- proach them. The tar who attempts to take French leave, will have a severe swim for it ; perchance get a shot sent after, that may send him to the bottom of the sea. With this menace con- stantly before their minds, even California's gold does not tempt many to run the dangerous gauntlet. 64 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. Among the craft keeping up this iron discipline is one that bears the British flag — a man-of-war, conspicuous by her handsome hull and clean tapering spars. Her sails are stowed snug, lashed neatly along the yards ; 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, every brace trimly turned upon its belaying-pin. It could not be otherwise with the frigate Crusader, com- manded by Captain Bracebridge, a sailor of the old school, who takes a pride in his ship. He has managed to keep his crew — every man Jack 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. 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 agreeable ; for Captain Bracebridge does all in his power to make matters pleasant, for men as well A BRACE OF BRITISH OFFICERS. 65 as officers. He takes care that the former get good grub, and plenty of it — including full rations of grog. He permits them to have amusements among themselves ; while the officers treat them to tahleaux-vivantSy charades, and private thea- tricals. 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 — at which more than one of her officers have made acquaint- ances they would wish to meet again — two of them desiring it with longings of a special kind. In other words, two of the frigate's fellows have fallen in love with a brace of shore damsels with whom they had danced, and done some flirting. It is the third day after the ball, and these identical gentlemen are standing upon the poop- deck, conversing about it. They are apart from their comrades — purposely, since their speech is confidential. They are both young men ; the elder of them, by name Crozier, being a year or two over twenty ; while the younger, called Cad- wallader, is almost as much under it. Crozier VOL. I. F 66 THE FLAG OP DISTRESS. has passed his term of prohationary service, and is now a '^mate ; " while the other is still a "mid- shipmite." And a type of this last, just as Marryat would have made him ; bright face, light- coloured hair, curling over cheeks ruddy as the bloom upon a rich peach. For he is Welsh, with eyes of that turquoise blue often observed in the descendants of the Cymri ; and hair of hue seen nowhere else — as threads of gold commingled with tissue of silver. Quite different is Edward Crozier, who hails from an ancestral hall standing in the shii-e of Salop. His hair, also curling, is dark brown. His complexion corresponding, with a pair of moustaches, already well grown, that lie like leeches along his lip, their tips turned upward. An aquiline nose and broad jaw-blades denote resolution — a character borne out by the glance of an eye that shews no quailing. He is of medium size, with a figure denoting strength, and capable of great endurance; in short, carrying out any resolve his mind may make. In point A BRACE OF BRITISH OFFICERS. 67 of personal appearance he is the superior; though both are handsome fellows, each in his own style. And as the styles are different, so are their dis- positions — these rather contrasting. Crozier is of a serious sedate turn ; and, though anything but morose, rarely given to mirth ; while, from the countenance of Cadwallader the laugh is scarce 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 extremes, and he would only seek his revanche by a lark of like kind. But with him of Salop, practical jesting would be dangerous, and might end in stern resentment — perhaps in a duel. Notwithstanding this difference of disposition, the two officers are fast friends ; a fact perhaps due to the dissimilitude of their natures. 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 F 2 68 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. lias favoured them in this : that they 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 family. They are not sisters, for all that ; nor yet cousins, though standing in a certain relationship. One is the aunt of the other. Such kinship might argue inequality of age. There is none, however, or only a very little. Scarce so much as between the young officers themselves. The aunt is but a year, or so, the senior of her niece. And as Fate has willed, the lots of the lovers have been cast to correspond in proper symmetry, and proportion. Crozier is in love with the former — Cadwallader with the latter. Their sweethearts are both Spanish, of the purest blood, the boasted sangre azul. They are, respectively, daughter and grand- daughter of Don Gregorio Montijo, whose house can be seen from the ship : a mansion of imposing appearance, in the Mexican hacienda style, set upon the A BEACE OF BRITISH OFFICERS. 69 summit of a hill, at some distance inshore, and southward from the town. While conversing, the young officers have their eyes upon it — one of the two assisting his vision with a binocular. It is Cadwallader who uses the instrument. Holding it to his eye, he says : " I think I can see them, Ned. At all events, there are two heads on the house-top, just shewing over the parapet. I'll take odds it's them, the dear girls. I wonder if they see us?" " I should say, not likely ; unless, as yourself, they're provided with telescopes." " By Jove ! I believe they've got them. I see something glance 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 you're so proud of, I can sight a sail farther than you." "A sail, yes; but not a pretty face, Ned. No, no ; you're blind to beauty ; else you'd never have 70 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 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 your sweetheart's black tangle. Look at that ! " He draws out a lock of hair, and unfolding, shakes it tauntingly before the other's eyes. In the sun it gleams golden, with a radiance of red ; for it is amber colour, as he has styled it. "Look at this ! " cries Cadwallader, also exhibit- ing a tress. " You thought nobody but yourself could show love-locks. There's a bit of hair, that to yours, is as costly silk alongside cheap common . cotton." For an instant each stands caressing his par- ticular tress; then both burst into laughter, as they stow away their separate favours. Crozier, in turn taking the binocular, directs it on the house of Don Gregorio ; after a time saying: "About one thing you're right, Will: those heads are the same from which we've had A BRACE OF BRITISH OFFICERS. 71 our tresses. Ay, and they're looking this way, through glasses ; perhaps, expecting us soon. Well ; we'll be with them, please 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 Calif omian sun." "Nowhere, under either sun or moon. Give me the girl with raven hair ! " " For me, her whose locks are red gold ! " *^Well; cada uno a su gusto, as m}^ sweetheart has taught me to say in her soft Andalusian. But now, Ned ! Talking seriously, do you think the governor will give us leave to go ashore ? " *' He must ; and I know he will." " How do you know it ? " *'Bah! ma hohil; as our Irish second would say. You're the son of a poor Welsh squire — good blood, I admit. But I chance to be heir to twice ten thousand a year, with an uncle in the Admiralty. I have asked leave for both of us. So, don't be uneasy about our getting it. Captain 72 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. Bracebridge is no snob; but he knows his own interests, and won't refuse such fair request. See ! There he is — coming this way. Now for his answer — affirmative, you may rely upon it." " Gentlemen," says the captain, approaching, *' you have my permission to go ashore, for the day. The gig will take you, landing wherever you wish. You are to send the boat back, and give the coxswain 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 very Pandemonium of a place. For the sake of the service, and the honour of the uniform you wear, steer clear of scrapes — and above all, give a wide berth to women." After thus delivering himself, the captain turns on his heel, and retires — leaving mate and mid- shipman to their meditations. They do not meditate long; the desired leave has been gi-anted, and the order issued for the A BRACE OF BRITISH OFFICERS. 73 gig to be got ready. 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, whose critical glances both more fear than they would the fire of a ship's broadside. Everything arranged, they drop down the man- ropes, and seat themselves in the stern-sheets ; Crozier commanding the men to shove ofi". Soon the little gig is gliding over the tranquil waters of San Francisco Bay; not in the direction of the landing- wharf, but for a projecting point on the shore, to the south of, and some distance outside, the suburbs of the city. For, the beacon towards which they steer, is the house of Don Gregorio Montijo. CHAPTER X. A PAIR OF SPANISH SENORITAS. Don Gregorio Montijo is a Spaniard, who, some ten years previous to the time of which we write, found his way into the republic of Mexico ; after- wards moving on to " Alta California." Settling by San Francisco Bay, he became a stock-farmer — the industry in those days chiefly followed by Californians. His grazing estate gives proof that he has prospered. Its territory extends several miles along the water, and several leagues backward ; its boundary in that direction 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 A PAIR OF SPANISH SExORITAS. 75 higher ground behind, and trending at right angles to the beach, where it declines into a low-lying sand-spit. Across this runs the shore road, south- ward from the city to San Jose, cutting the ridge midway between the walls of the house and the water's edge, at some three hundred yards' dis- tance from each. The dwelling, a massive quadrangular structure — in that semi-moriscan style of architecture im- ported into New Spain by the Conquistadores — is but a single story in height ; having a flat terraced roof, and inner court ; this last approached through a grand gate entrance, centrally set in the front facade, with a double-winged door wide enough to admit the chariot of Sir 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 head-quarters of a grazing estate, still less ; its inclosures consisting chiefly of "corrals" for the penning and branding of 76 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 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 stone 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 indigenous evergreen. Here and there, a clump of California bays, and some scattered peach-trees, betray an attempt, however slight, at landscape gardening. Taking into account the grandeur of his house, and the broad acres attached to it, one may safely say, 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 pur- chase a large tract of land, as also sufficient of horses and horned cattle to stock it. No needy adventurer he, but a gentleman by birth ; one of A PAIR OF SPANISH SEnORITAS. 77 Biscay's bluest blood — hidalgos since the days of the Cid. In addition to his ready-money, he also brought with him a wife — Biscayan as himself — and a daughter, at the time turned eight years' old. His wife has been long ago buried ; a tombstone in the cemetery of the old Dolores Mission com- memorating her many virtues. Since, he has had an accession to his contracted family circle ; the added member being a grand-daughter, only a year younger than his daughter, but equally well grown — both having reached the ripest age of girlhood. It is not necessary to say, that the young ladies, thus standing in the relationship of aunt and niece, are the two with whom Edward Crozier and Willie Cadwallader have respectively fallen in love. But while mate and midshipman are on the way to pay them a promised visit — for such it is — a word may be said about their personal appearance. Though so closely allied, and nearly of an age, in other respects the two differ so widely, that one 78 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. unacquainted with the fact would not suspect the slightest kinship hetween 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 colour of hair so admired by Mr. Crozier; with the blue-gray eyes, known as " Irish " — the Basques and Celts being a kindred race. Her Biscayan origin has endowed her with a figure of fine full development, withal in perfect feminine proportion ; while her mother has transmitted to her what, in an eminent degree, she herself possessed — beauty of face and feature. 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 Tuscan, or Levantine wind. It is not necessary to describe Dona Carmen Montijo in detail. A chapter might be devoted to her many charms, and still not do them justice. Enough to say, that they are beyond cavil, and A PAIR OF SPANISH SENORITAS. 79 that there are men in San Francisco who would dare death for her sake, if sure of her smile to speak 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 — Inez Alvarez — though she has neither blonde complexion, blue eyes, nor amber-coloured 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 antecedent to the birth of Carmen, his last. The count wooed the Biscayan lady ; won, and bore her away to his home in Andalusia. 80 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. Both he and she have gone to then- long account, leaving their only child, Inez, inheritress of a handsome estate. From her father, in whose veins ran Moorish hlood, she inherits the jet-black eyes, with 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 some day excel, since she has not yet attained her full stature, day by day growing taller. Such are the two damsels, who have danced with the young British officers, and made sweet havoc in their hearts. Have those of the seTioritas received similar hurt in return ? By listening to their conversation we shall learn. CHAPTER XI. MUTUAL ADMISSIONS. The dwelling of Don Gregorio Montijo, as already stated, is terrace- topped, that style of roof, in Spano-Mexican phrase, termed azotea. This sur- rounded by a parapet breast-high, beset with plants and flowering shrubs in boxes and pots, thus forming a sort of aerial garden, is reached by a stone stair — the escalera — which leads up out of the inner court, called patio» During certain hours of the day, the azotea is a favourite resort, being a pleasant place of dalliance, as also the finest for observa- tion — commanding, as in this case it does, a view of the country at back, and the broad bay in front. To look upon the last have the two " seiioritas," on the same morning, ascended — soon after breakfast, which in all parts VOL. I. G 82 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. of Spanish America is eaten at the somewhat late hour of 11 A.M. That they do not intend staying here long, is evident 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; w^hile in the courtyard helow stand four horses, saddled and hridled, champing their hits, and impatiently striking the pavement with their hoofs. Since all the saddles are such as are usually ridden by men, it may be supposed only men are to be mounted, and that the ladies' horses have not yet 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 deductions differently. Looking at the spurred heels upon the house- top, and the saddled horses below, he would conclude, that two of the steeds were intended to be ridden by the ladies ; in that style of equitation with which the famed Duchesse MUTUAL ADMISSIONS. 83 de Berri was accustomed to astonish the Pari- sians. The other two horses, having larger and somewhat coarser saddles, are evidently de- signed for gentlemen ; so that the cavalcade will be symmetrically composed — two and two of each sex. The gentlemen have not yet put in an ap- pearance ; but who they are may be learnt from the dialogue passing between the seiioritas. From their elevated position these can see the rapidly growing city of San Francisco, and the shipping in its harbour; north-east, and a little to their left. But there are several vessels riding at anchor far out in front of them. One a war- ship, towards which the eyes of both keep continuously turning, as though they expected d boat soon to put off from her side. As yet none such has been seen ; and, with- drawing her gaze from the war-ship, Inez opens the conversation by asking her aunt a question : G 2 84 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. ''Is it really true that we're going back to Spain ? " She has been in California only a short time — since the death of her father and mother — placing her under the guardianship of Don Gregorio. But though lovers have been all the while sighing around her, she longs to return to her dear Anda- lusia. Therefore she asked the question with more than a common interest. " Quite true ; " says Carmen, giving the answer, " and I'm sorry it is so." " Why should you be sorry ? " " Why ! there are many reasons." " Give one." " I could give twenty." *' One will be sufficient — if good ? " " They're all good." " 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." MUTUAL ADMISSIONS. 85 " Ten times brighter, and 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 superior. Even the boasted Bay of Naples would be but a poor little lake alongside this noble sheet of water, far stretching before your eyes. 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," " But something on it ; for instance, that grand ship out yonder. Come, now ; confess the truth ! Isn't she something to admire ? " '' But she don't belong to your Bay," replies the Andalusian. " No matter ; she's on it now, and in it — the ship I mean — somebody who, if I mistake not, has very much interested somebody else — a certain Andalusian lady, by name Inez Alvarez." " Your words will answer as well for a Biscayan lady, by name Carmen Montijo." 86 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. " Suppose I admit it, and say yes ? Well ; I will. There is one in yonder ship who has very much interested me. Nay, more ; I admire, — love him ! You see I'm not ashamed to confess what the world seems to consider woman's weak- ness. We of the Celtic race don't keep secrets as you of the further South ; half Moors, as you are. For all, sohrina, you haven't kept yours ; though you tried hard enough. I saw from the first you were smitten with that young English officer, who has hair the exact colour of a carrot ! " " It isn't anything of the kind. His hair is of a much more becoming hue than that of the other English officer, who's taken your^fancy, tia." " Nothing to compare with it. Look at this. There is a curl ; one of the handsomest that ever grew on the head of a man ! Dark and glossy, as the coat of the fur-seal. Beautiful ! I could kiss it over, and over again! " ' While speaking, she does so. ** And look at this ! " cries the other, also drawing forth a lock of hair, and displaying it in MUTUAL ADMISSIONS. 87 the sunlight. "See how it shines — like tissue of gold ! Far prettier than 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, my innocent ! " exclaims Carmen, " you've been stealing too ? " " As yourself." " And, I suppose, you've given him a love-lock in exchange ? " "Have you?" " I have. To you, Inez, I make no secret of it. Come, now ! Be equally candid with me. Have you done so ? " " I've done the same as yourself." " 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 88 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 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." " Ah ! about that we two difi'er. Give me Cali- fornia for a country, and San Francisco for a home; though it's not much of a city yet. It ■will, ere long; and I should like to stay in it. But that's not to be, and there's an end of it. Father has determined on leaving. Indeed, he has already sold out ; so that this house and the lands around it are no longer ours. As the law- yers have the deed of transfer, and the money has been paid down, we're only here on 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 MUTUAL ADMISSIONS. 89 originality and picturesqueness. I'm sure I shall die of ennui, soon after reaching Spain. Your Cadiz will kill me." " But, Carmen ; surely you can't be happy here — now that everything is so changed ? Why, we can scarce walk out in safety, or take a prome- nade through the streets of the town, crowded with those rude fellows in red shirts, who've come to dig for gold — Anglo-Saxons, as they call them- selves." " 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 Welsh — and that's Celtic, the same as you Bis- cayans. Besides, he isn't to be ranked with that rabble, even though he were of the same race. The Seiior Cadwallader is a born hidalgo." " Admitting him to be, I think you do wrong to these red-shirted gentry, in calling them a rabble. Kough as is their exterior, they have gentle hearts under their coarse homespun coats. Many of 90 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 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 among them scores of times. Father wrongs them too : for it is partly their presence here that's causing him to leave California — as so also many others of our old families. Still, as we reside in the country, at a safe distance from town, we might enjoy immunity from meeting los barbaros, as our people are pleased contemptu- ously to style them. For my part, I love dear old California, and will 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 pf the Great Conde, the Campeador, and Cid. Yes, Inez ; only in this modern Transatlantic land — out here, on the shores of the South Sea — MUTUAL ADMISSIONS. 91 do there still exist customs, and manners, to remind one of the old knight-errantry and times of the troubadours." " What an enthusiast you 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 Andalusian is not echoed by the Biscayan. Instead, a shadow steals over her face, as her eyes become fixed upon two mounted figures just distinguishable in the distance. "True types of your Californian chivalry/" adds Inez ironically. " True types of Californian villany," rejoins Carmen, in serious earnest. CHAPTER XII. A COUPLE OF CALIFOENIA.N " CABALLEROS." The horsemen, so oddly commented upon, have just emerged from the suburbs of San Francisco, taking the road which leads southward along shore. Both are garbed in grand style — in the national costume of that country, which, in point of pic- turesqueness 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 filigree buttons; the snow-white di-awers (cal- zoncillas) here and there puffing out ; below, hotas and spurs — the last wdth 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 A COUPLE OF CALIFORNIAN " CABALLEROS." 93 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 somhreros with broad brim, and band of bullion — the toquilla. In addition, each has over his shoulders a manga — the most magnificent of outside garments, with a drape graceful as a Koman toga. That of one is scarlet-coloured, the other sky-blue. Nor are their horses less grandly bedecked. Saddles of stamped leather, scintillating with silver studs — their cloths elaborately embroidered ; bridles of plaited horse-hair, jointed with tags and tassels ; bits of the Mamaluke pattern, with check-pieces and curbs powerful enough to break the jaw at a jerk. The steeds thus splendidly capaiisoned are worthy of it. Though small, they are of perfect shape — pure blood of Arabian sires, transmitted through dams of Andalusia. They are descended from the stock transported to the New World by the Conquistador es ; and the progenitor of one or 94 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. other may have carried Alvarado, or Sandoval — perhaps Cortez himself. The riders are both men of swarthy complexion, with traits that tell of the Latin ic race. Their features are Spanish ; in one a little more pro- nounced than the other. He who wears the sky- coloured cloak has all the appearance of being Mexican born. The blood in his veins, giving the brown tinge to his skin, is not Moorish, but more likely from the aborigines of California. For all this, he is not a true mestizo ; only one among whose remote ancestry an Indian woman may have played part ; since the family-tree of many a proud Californian has sprung from such root. He is of medium size, with figure squat and somewhat square, and sits his horse as though he were part of the animal. 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 outline rounded, the nose compressed, nostrils agape, and lips thick enough to suggest the idea of an African A COUPLE OF CALIFORNIAN " CABALLEROS." 95 origin. But his hair contradicts this — being straight as needles, and black as the skin of a Colobus monkey. More like he has it from the Malays, through the Californian Indian — some tribes of which are undoubtedly of Malayan descent. Whatever the mixture in his blood, the man is himself a native Californian, born by the shores of San Francisco Bay, on a ganaderia, or grazing 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 a few years older, is altogether different in appearance, as otherwise ; personally handsomer, and intel- lectually 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 classically cut, and sur- mounted by a thick shock of hair, coal-black in 96 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. colour, and waved rather than curling. Heavy moustaches on the upper lip, with an imperial on the under 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 charac- teristics of Don Francisco de Lara, who is a much larger, and to all appearance stronger, man than his travelling companion. Calderon, as said, is a gentleman by birth, and a ganadero, or stock-farmer, by occupation. He inherits a considerable tract of pasture-land, left him by his father — some time deceased — along with the horses and horned cattle that browse upon it. An only son, he is now owner of all. But his ownership is not likely to continue. He is fast relinquishing it, by the pursuit of evil courses — among them three of a special kind : wine, women, and play — which promise to make him bankrupt in purse, as they already have in cha- racter. For around San Francisco, as in it, he is known as a roue and reveller, a debauchee in every speciality of debauch, and a silly fellow to boot. A COUPLE OF CALIFORNIAN " CABALLEROS." 97 Naturally of weak intellect, his dissipations have made it weaker. Of as much moral darkness, though different in 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 Spaniard, but only so by descent, being a Creole of New Orleans — that cosmopolitan city par excellence — hence his philo- logical acquirements. Frank Lara 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. He is full thirty years of age ; the last ten of which he has spent on the shores of San Fran- VOL I. H 98 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. cisco Bay. Landing there from an American whaling-vessel, and in sailor costume, lie cast off his tarry ** togs, "and took to land-life in Cali- fornia. Its easy idleness, as its lawlessness, exactly suited his natural inclinations ; and, above all, his penchant for gaming. 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 con- sequent Anglo-Saxon invasion, they have become united in a business partnership — in a bank. Not one of the ordinary kind, of discount and deposit, with desks and counters for the transaction of affairs ; but such as may be seen in every Mexican or Californian town. A drinking saloon contain- ing tables covered with green cloth, and rows of chairs or benches around them ; in short, the species known as a " 7nonte bank." Since the discovery of the gold placers, the streets of San Francisco have become crowded A COUPLE OF CALIFOENIAN " CAEALLEROS." 99 with men mad after the precious metal ; among them some who do not desire to undergo the toil of sifting it out of sand, washing it from river- mud, nor yet crushing it clear of its matrix — the quartz -rock. They prefer the easier, and cleaner, method of gathering it across the green haize of a gambling-tahle. To accommodate such gentry, Don Francisco de Lara has established a monte bank, Don Faus- tino Calderon being his backer. But though the latter is the moneyed 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 respectability, and does not desire to appear as a professional gambler. He acts, therefore, as the sleeping partner ; while De Lara, with less repu- tation at stake, is the active and ostensible one. Such are the two men, splendidly attired and magnificently mounted, who have issued from the new-named town of San Francisco, and are riding along the shore of its bay. As they canter gently through the suburbs, they are seen by several, H 2 100 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. who know and recognize them. Many admire their grand style and picturesque habiliments, and notably the gold-diggers, and other late comers to California, not accustomed to behold simple citi- zens in such shining array. Farther on, the gamesters encounter but few people, and fewer still who are strangers. For they are now straying beyond the range of red- shirts, and meet only the natives of the country, rancheros riding townward. Most who recognize can guess where they are going, and if asked would say, that Calderon is on his way to the hacienda of Don Gregorio Montijo — perhaps add his errand. About that of De Lara, they might not be so sure, though they would suppose him on something of the same. Strange all this to one unacquainted with Cali- fornia and its ways — especially one acquainted with the character of the two caballeros in ques- tion. He would naturally ask : Could men so tainted be on visiting terms with the family of gentleman — among the iirst in California ^ A COUPLE OF OALIFORNIAN " CABALLEROS." 101 ranking with its grandest ricos, and familias principales ? By one knowing the country and its customs in the olden time, the answer given 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 not occasionally cast dice, or stake doubloons, upon the turning of a card, was a rara avis. The keeper of a monte bank might not be deemed so respectable as a banker of the ordinary kind ; still, not only was he not socially outlawed, but if rich, " society " rather caressed him. As yet, Faustino Calderon has not come under the category of the professional " sport," and re spectability does not repel him. His dissipated habits are far from exceptional, and his father's good name still continues j;o throw its {eg is over him. Under it he is eligible to Californian society, of the most select kind, and has the entree of its best circles. 102 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. And so also Don Francisco de Lara — in a dif- ferent way. Wealth has secured him this, for although anything but rich, he has the repute of being so, and bears evidence of it about him. He is always stylishly and fashionably attired ; his shirt of the finest linen, with diamond studs sparkling in its front. Free in dispensing gra- tuities, he gives to the poor and the priests — the last kind of largess being a good sort of specula- tion. He designs it as such, and it well repays the outlay. For, in California, as in other Catholic countries, the dispenser of " Peter's Pence " is sure of being held in high estimation. Frank Lara has done this with a liberal hand ; and is therefore styled Don Francisco de Lara — saluted 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 deportment, without being at all a dandy. On the contrary he carries himself with earnest air, calm and cool, while in his eye may be read the expression — noli me tangere. A native of A COUPLE OF CALIFORNIAN "CABALLEROS." 103 New Orleans, where duels occur almost daily, he is up in the art cVescrime ; and since his arrival in California has twice called out his man — on the second occasion killing him. Escroc as the French might call him ; *' black- leg " in the English vocabulary ; " sport " in American phrase, Frank Lara is a man with whom no one who knows him likes to take liberties. Such are the two men whom Inez Alvarez has facetiously styled types of Californian -' chivalry," while Carmen Montijo has more correctly de- scribed them as typical of its ''' villany." And yet to visit this very liiez, and this same Carmen, the gentlemen so differently designated are now on their way ! CHAPTEK Xni. CONFESSIONS OF FEAR. After having delivered their speeches, so nearly alike in sound, yet so different in sense, the seno- ritas stand for a short time silent, their faces turned toward the horsemen. These are still more than a mile off, and to the ordinary eye only distinguishable as mounted men wearing cloaks — one of scarlet colour, the other sky- blue. But despite the distance, the young ladies easily identify them — both simultane- ously, and in tone contemptuous, pronouncing their names. "Yes," says Carmen, now speaking in full assurance, with a lorgnette raised to her eyes — hitherto bent upon the British war- ship. '*No truer types of what I've called them than Francisco de Lara, and Faustino Calderon." CONFESSIONS OF FEAR. 105 The frown that came over her face at first sight of them remains there, as she continues to regard them through the ^lass. After an interval she adds interrogatively, and with a certain uneasiness of manner : " Think you they're coming to the house, Inez ? " *' 'Tis very likely ; I should say, almost cer- tain." " What can be bringing them ? " mechanically queries Carmen, with an air of increased vexation. "■ Their horses, aunt," rejoins the niece, jest- ingly. " Don't jest, nina ! It's too serious." " What's too serious ? " <' Why, these fellows coming hither. I wonder what they can be wanting ? " ''You needn't wonder at that," says Inez, still speaking jocularly. ^" I can tell j^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 106 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. desirous to have a look at her niece," retorts the other in like bantering tone. " He's quite welcome. He may look at me till he strains his ugly eyes out. It won't make any impression." " I'm sorry I can't say the same for Don Fran- cisco. On me his looks do make impression — one far from being either pleasant or favourable." *' It wasn't always so, tia ? " " No, I admit. I only wish it had been." " But why ? " " Because, now I shouldn't need to be afraid of him." " Afraid of him ! Surely you're not that ? " " Well, no— not exactly— still '* She speaks hesitatingly, and in disjointed phrases, her head hung down, with a red spot upon her cheeks, as though she had some reason for reti- cence — 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 you with a confidence, Inez ? " CONFESSIONS OF FEAR. 107 " Why need you ask that ? You've ah-eady trusted me with one, in telling me you love Don Eduardo Crozier." *' Now I give you another — hy telling you, I once loved Don Francisco de Lara." " Indeed ! " "No, no ! " rejoins Carmen quickly, and as if half-repentmg the avowal. " Not loved him — that's not true. I only came near it." " And now ? " " I hate him ! " " Why, may I ask ? What has changed you ?" " That's easily answered. Listen, Inez : and you shall have the explanation. When I first met him I was much younger 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 turn toward Francisco de Lara. I thought him handsome ; and in a sense so he is. In person, you'll admit, he's all man may, or need, be — a sort of Apollo, or Hyperion. But in mind — ah, liiez, that man is a very Satyr 108 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. — in heart and soul a Mephistoplieles. I only discovered it when I became better acquainted with him. Then, I hated him, and do so still." "But why should you be afraid of him ? " Carmen does not reply promptly. Clearly, she has not yet given the whole of her confidence. There is something withheld. Inez, whose sympathies are now enlisted — seeing that her aunt has some secret cause for sufi*ering — presses for the explanation. She does so entreatingly, in words 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 anything of the kind. He has no claim, and I no compromise. The only thing I've reason to regret is, having listened to his flattering speeches without resent- ing them." "Pst! What does that signify? Why, Don Faustino has made flattering speeches to me — scores of them — called me all sorts of endearing CONFESSIONS OF FEAR. 109 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 behaviour of your admirer there's only a little of the ludicrous ; in that of mine, there may be a great deal of danger. But let us cease dis- cussing them. There's no time for that now. The question is, are they coming on to the house ? " " I think there can be no question about it. Like as not they've heard that we are soon going away, and are about to honour us with a fare- well visit." " Would it were only that ! But visit of what- ever kind, 'tis extremely ill-timed, and may be awkward." "How so?" " Supposing they should stay till our English friends arrive ? 'Tis drawing near the hour they were invited to ride out with us. Twelve, father told them, he says. It's now half-past eleven ; 110 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. and if the four should meet here, wouldn't we be in a dilemma ? It's very vexatious, the coming of these 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 different way ; and sure as fate there'd be trouble, perhaps quarrelling between them. That wouldn't be at all pleasant. Therefore, let us hope our friends from the ship won't get here till our ^hove-friends — or enemies, I should rather style them — have done their devoirs^ and gone off again." " But cur ship-friends will be here before that. As I live, they're on the way now. Look yonder ! " Inez points over the bay in the direction of the British frigate, where a boat is in the water under her beam ; the sun, reflected from dripping oar- blades, telling them in motion. CONFESSIONS OF FEAR. Ill While the girls continue gazing, it is seen to separate from the ship's side, and put shoreward, straight towards the sand- spit which projects 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 this ; 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 so well known as to be recognizable at any distance to which love's glances could possibly penetrate. They are the guests expected, for whom the spare horses stand saddled in the patio. For Don Gregorio, by no means displeased with certain delicate attentions which the young British offi- cers have been paying to the female members of his family, 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 112 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. leaving home, had given orders for the steeds to be saddled. It is not the first time Crozier and Cadv^allader have been to the Spaniard's house, nor the first to stretch their limbs under his dining-table, nor the first for them to have held pleasant converse with the senoritas, and strolled along solitary paths, opportune for the exchange of those love- locks. But it may be the last — at least during their sojourn in California. For in truth is it to be a farewell visit. But with this understanding, another has been entered into. The acquaintance commenced in California is to be renewed at Cadiz, when the Crusader goes thither, which she is ere long ex- pected to do. But for such anticipation 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 opposite side — the horsemen coming from the town. An encounter between the two pairs CONFESSIONS OF FEAR. 113 gives promise to mar the happy intercourse of the hour. " They'll meet — they must ! " says Carmen, apprehensively. " Let them ! " rejoins Inez, in a tone of non- chalance. '' 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 — in- stead of regretting it, should be glad ! Look there ! Lovers coming from all sides — suitors by land and suitors by sea ! Knights terrestrial, knights aquatic. No lady of the troubadour times ever had the like ; none was ever honoured by such a rivalry ! Come, Carmen, be proud ! Stand firm on your castle-keep ! Show yourself worthy to receive this double adoration ! " " Inez, you don't know the danger." " There is none. If they should come into collision, and have a fight, let them. I've no VOL. I. I 114 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 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." " Sobrinaf you shock me. I had no idea you were such a demonio. The Moorish blood, I sup- pose. 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 you 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 ! " CHAPTER XIV. A SWEET PAIR OF SUITORS. While the young ladies upon the house-top are discussing the characters of De Lara and Calderon, these latter are, in return, talking ahout them, and in a strain which bodes little good to Inez, with much of evil to Carmen. That the visit designed for them is of no ordinary nature, but for an all-important purpose, can be gleaned from the speech passing between the two gamblers as they ride along the road. De Lara commences it by remarking : — " Well,, friend Faustino, from something you said before setting out, I take it j^ou're going to Don Gregorio's on business very similar to my own. Com.e, caonar ado ! Declare your errand." " Declare yours." ** Certainly. I shall make no secret of it to I 2 116 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. you ; nor need I. Why should there he any between us ? We've now known one another long, and intimately enough, to exchange con- fidences of even the closest kind. To-day mine is — that I mean proposing to Don Gregorio's daughter — offering her my hand in marriage." ** And I," returns Calderon, ** intend doing the same to his gi'and-daughter." " In that case, we're both in the same boat ; and, as there's no rivalry between us, we can pull pleasantly together. I've no objection to being your uncle ; even admitting you to a share in the Spaniard's property — proportioned to your claims of kinship." " I don't want a dollar of the old Don's money ; only 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." A SWEET PAIR OF SUITORS. 117 ** 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 gesticulation — all show them to he 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 enough. You remember the last fandango held at Don Gregorio's — on the day of the cattle-branding ? " " Certainly I do. I've good reason to remember it. But go on." " Well, that night," proceeds Calderon, " I danced twice with Dona liiez, and made many sweet speeches to her. Once I went farther, and squeezed her pretty little hand. She wasn't angry, or at all events didn't say or show it. 118 THE FLAG OP DISTRESS. Surely, after such encouragement, I may ask that hand in marriage — with fair presumption of not being refused. What's your 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 eight or 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, you needn't have a special spite against the Senor Montijo. You're sure no one else stands between you and your sweetheart ? Or is there something in the shape of a rival?" " Of course there is — a score of them, as you ought to know; same as with yourself, De Lara. Suitors have been coming and going with both, A SWEET PAIR OF SUITORS. 119 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 mid- shipman on board a British man-of-war now lying in the harbour. 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 for some time the talk of the town ? You may as well know it, if you don't already." " What ?" asks the Creole, excitedly. " Why, that the one represented as your com- petitor has cut out all Carmen's other admirers — yourself among the rest." Bitter words to the ear of Francisco de Lara, bringing the red colour 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 earnest, Calderon, and mean it. If it be as you've heard, I'll surely kill her. I've the right 120 TH^ FLAG OF DISTEESS. to her life — by her giving me the right to her love." " But did she do that ? Has she ever 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 deter- mined to ascertain the truth, by offering her my hand, as I've said, and asking hers. 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 womankind either laugh at or play 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 A SWEET PAIR OF SUITORS. 121 US, which we shall, I suppose, soon after ascend- ing yonder hill. One of us may be accepted, the other rejected. In that case, one will be happy, the other wretched. Or both may be accepted, and then we'll both be blessed. Taking 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 despair 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 hasten 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, not- withstanding his assumed levity, the expression is almost of despair ; on that of De Lara it is more like the look of a demon. CHAPTEK XV. A EUDE RENCONTRE. Having steeled themselves to the reception of their rival suitors, with brave words one support- ing the other, the young ladies remain upon the azotea. At first they had thoughts of going below ; but as that would not give them avoidance of either pair of visitors — and one they do not wish to avoid — they stay to await the upshot, whatever it is to be. 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 town- 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. A RUDE RENCONTRE. 123 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 Americans, its purpose to exhibit equestrian skill. For the two horsemen looking up the hill, have seen heads on the house-top, and know that ladies' eyes are upon them. Surreptitiously goaded by the spur, their steeds plunge and curvet, apparently advancing at a rapid pace, but in reality gaining little ground. After a time both parties disappear from the eyes of those on the azotea. They have gone under the brow of the hill, which, overhanging for a short distance, shuts out a view of the road, as also the sea-shore, along the sand-spit. 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 coxswain, 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 wait for them on return to the ship. 124 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. " At the new wharf in the harbour," Crozier is heard to say ; for it is he who commands on account of seniority 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 opposite side. Soon both parties are again within view of those on the house-top; though neither as yet sees the other, or has any suspicion of such mutual prox- imity. 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 made, and are now approaching in tranquil gait, but with an air of subdued triumph — the mock modesty of the ma- tador, who with blood-stained sword bends meekly A RUDE EENCONTRE. 125 before the box where beauty sits, smiling appro- bation. The two pedestrians climb the hill less cere- moniously. Glad to stretch their limbs upon land — " shake the knots out of their knees," as Cadwallader gleefully 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 within view of the house, they bring their boisterous humour under restraint, at sight of two heads above the parapet. 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 are not turned towards them. On the contrary, from them, the ladies looking aslant in another direction. Some chagrin in this. After all their grand caracolling, and feats of equitation, that must have been witnessed by their fair spectators. At what are these now gazing ? Is it a ship 126 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. sailing up the bay, or something else on the water ? No matter what, and whether on land, or water. Enough for the conceited cavaliers to think they are being slightingly received. Disconcerted, they seek an explanation, mutually questioning one another. But before either can make answer in speech, they have it under their eyes — in the shape of a brace of British naval ofl&cers. Like themselves, the latter have just reached the summit of the ridge, and are coming towards Don Gregorio's gate. It is midway between ; and keeping on at the same rate of speed, the two pairs will meet directly in front of it. Before that hour, neither has ever set eyes on the other. Notwithstanding, there is an expres- sion on the faces of all four, which tells of mutual surmises — even recognition — of no friendly nature. Calderon says to De Lara, sotto-voce : " The English officers ! " Cadwallader whispers to Crozier : " The fellows we've heard about — our rivals, A RUDE RENCONTRE. 127 Ned. Like ourselves, I suppose, going to visit the girls." De Lara makes no response to Calderon. Neither does Crozier to Cadwallader. There is not time. They are now close up to the gate, and there is only its breadth between them. They have arrived there at the same instant of time, and simultaneously make stop. Face to face, silence on both sides, neither word, nor salute, 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 into the entrance. Their hesitation is not from any courtesy, but the reverse. The men on horseback look down on those afoot contemptu- ously, scornfully. Threateningly, too ; as though they had thoughts of riding over, and trampling them under the hooves 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 128 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. midshipman's clirk, both weapons conspicuous outside their uniforms. For a period of several seconds' duration, the rivals stand vis-d-vis, neither venturing to ad- vance. Around them is a nimbus of angry- electricity, that needs but a spark to kindle it into furious flame. A single word will 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 thing said is by Crozier to Cadwallader — not in a whisper, but aloud, and without regard to the effect it may have on the enemy. " Come along. Will ! We've something better to do than stand shilly-shallying here. Heave 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. A EUDE EENCONTRE. 129 Soon as near enough for Carmen to observe 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 house-top 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 set behind their toquillas — one chestnut- brown, the other of golden hue. Scarce 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, clearly comprehending the symbolism of the act. Exasperated beyond bounds, he can no longer control himself, and cares not what may come. At his instigation, Caldcron spurs on by his VOL. I. K 130 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. side, the two tearing furiously along. Their pur- pose is evident : to force the pedestrians from the path, and so humble them in the eyes of their sweethearts. On his side, Crozier remains cool, admonish- ing Cadwallader to do the same. They feel the power of possession : assured by those smiles, that the citadel is theirs. It is for the outsiders to make the assault. " Give a clear gangway, Will," counsels Crozier; '^and let them pass. We can talk to the gentlemen afterwards." Both step back among the manzanita bushes, and the ginetes go galloping past ; De Lara on Crozier's side scowling down, as if he would anni- hilate the English officer 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 midshipman, full of youth- ful freak, determines on having his " lark." He sees the chance, and cannot restrain himself. As A EUDE RENCONTRE. 131 Calderon sweeps past, lie draws his dirk, and pricks the CaKfornian's horse in the hip. The animal, maddened by the pain, springs upward, and then shoots off at increased speed, still fur- ther heightened by the fierce exclamations of his rider, and the mocking laughter of 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 a determination to call him to account. He is not flurried about this. On the contrary, he has courted it, knowing himself a skilled swords- man, and dead shot. Eemembering that he has already killed his man, he can await with equa- nimity the challenge he has provoked. It is 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 eyes as he turns them towards the house-top. For the ladies are still there, looking down. 132 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. Saluting, he says : " Dona Carmen ; can I have the honour of an interview?" She thus interrogated does not make immediate answer. Spectator of all that has passed, she observes the hostile attitude between the two sets of visitors. To receive both at the same time will be more than embarrassing. With their angrj^ passions roused to such a pitch, it must end in a personal encounter. Her duty is clear. She is mistress of the house, representing her father, who is absent. The English officers are there by invitation. At thought of this, she no longer hesitates. "Not now, Don Francisco de Lara," she says, replying to his question, ; '' not to-day. I must beg of you to excuse me." *' Indeed ! " rejoins he sneeringly. " Will it be deemed discourteous in me to ask why I am denied ? " It is discourteous; and so Dona Carmen deems it. Thou2:h she does not tell him as A KUDE RENCONTRE. 133 much ill words, he can take it from her re- joinder. ''You are quite welcome to know the reason. We have an engagement ! " *' Oh ! an engagement ! " ''Yes, sir, an engagement," she repeats, in a tone telling of irritation. " Those gentlemen you see are our guests. My father has invited them to spend the day with us." " Ah ! your father has invited them ! How very good of Don Gregorio Montijo, extending his hospitality to gringos/ And Doiia Carmen has added her kind compliments, with earnest entreaties for them to come, no doubt ? " " Sir ! " says Carmen, no longer able to conceal her indignation, "your speech is impertinent — insulting. I shall listen to it no longer." Saying which, she steps back, disappearing be- hind the parapet — where Inez has already con- cealed herself, at the close of a similar short, but stormy, dialogue with Caldcron. 134 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. De Lara, a lurid look in his eyes, sits in his saddle as if in a stupor. He is roused from it hy a voice, Crozier's, saying : ''You appear anxious to make apology to the lady ? You can make it to me." " Car rail'' exclaims the gambler, starting, and glaring angrily at the speaker. " Who are you?'* '* One who demands an apology for your very indecorous behaviour." "You'll not get it." "Satisfaction, then?" ' " That to your heart's content." " I shall have it so. Your card, sir ?" "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 ; then spitefully plj^ing the spur, gallops back down the avenue — his comrade close following. Calderon has not deemed it incumbent upon him to demand a card from Cadwallader. Nor A RUDE RENCONTRE. 135 has the latter thought it necessary to take one from him. The mid is quite contented with that playful prod with his dirk. The young officers enter the house, in cheerful confidence they have lost nothing hy the encounter, and those inside will still smilingly receive them — as they do. CHAPTEK XVI. A SHIP WITHOUT SAILORS. Among the vessels lying in tlie harbour of San Francisco is one, athwart whose stern is lettered the name El Condor. She is a ship of small dimensions — some five or six hundred tons — devoted to peaceful commerce, as can be told by certain peculiarities of rig and structure, understood by the initiated in nautical affairs. 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 Confederation can also claim it. But there is no need to guess at the particular country to which the craft in question belongs. The flag suspended over her taffrail declares it, by A SHIP WITHOUT SAILOES. 137 a symbolism intelligible to those who take an interest in national insignia. It is a tricolour — the orthodox and almost uniYersal 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 disposition of colours proclaims the ship that carries them to be Chilian. She is not the only Chilian craft in the harbour of San Francisco. Several others are there that show the same colours ; brigs, barques, schooners, and ships. For the spirited little South American republic is prosperous as enterprising, and its 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 repre- sentative force to *' cradle" the gold j^^^^^ers of California. Not only are its ships lying in the bay, but its guasos and gamhiislnos in goodly number tread the streets of the town ; while many 138 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. of the dark-eyed damsels, who from piazzas and balconies salute the passer-by with seductive smiles, are those charming little Chileiias that make 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 commanding her sailors, since there are none aboard hailing from Chili or elsewhere. Those who brought the Condor into San Francisco Bay have abandoned her — gone off to the gold- diggings ! Arriving in the heat of the placer - fever, they preferred seeking fortune with pick, shovel, and pan to handling tarry ropes at ten dollars a month. Almost on the instant of the ship's dropping anchor they deserted to a man, leaving her skipper alone, with only the cook for a companion. Neither is the latter Chilian, but African — a native of Zanzibar. No more, the two great monkeys, observed gambolling about the deck ; A SHIP WITHOUT SAILORS. 139 for the climate of Chili, lying outside the equa- torial belt, is too cold for the quadnimana. Not much appearing upon the Condor would proclaim her a South American ship. And nothing in her cargo, though a cargo she carries. She has just arrived from a trading voyage to the South Sea Isles, extending to the Indian Archipelago, whence her lading, a varied assort- ment, consisting of tortoise-shell, spices, mother- of-pearl, Manilla cigars, and such other com- modities as may be collected among the Oriental islands. Hence also the my as monkeys — better known as orang-otangs — seen playing about her deck. These she has brought from Borneo. Only a small portion of her freight had been consigned to San Francisco ; this long ago landed. The rest remains in her hold, awaiting transport to Valparaiso. How soon she may arrive there, or take depar- ture from her present anchorage, is a question that even her skipper cannot answer. If asked, he would most probably reply, ^' Qiiien saheV 140 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. and, further pressed, might point to her deserted decks, offering that as an explanation of his inahihty to satisfy the inquirer. Her captain — Antonio Lantanas by name — is a sailor of the Spanish- American type ; and being this, he takes crosses, and disappointments, coolly. Even the desertion of his crew seems scarcely to have ruffled him ; he bears it with a patient resignation, that would be quite incomprehensible to either English, or Yankee skipper. With a broad-brimmed jijn-jajja hat shading his 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 to roll paper cigarritos, one of which is usually either in his fingers, or between his thin 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 creatures are male and female, both full of fun in their uncouth fashion ; and Captain Lantanas takes it out of them by occasionally touching their snouts with the lit end of his A SHIP WITHOUT SAILORS. 141 cigarrette, laughing to see them scamper off, scared at the (to them) singular, and somewhat painful, effect of fire. His meals arc served regularly three times a day, and his cook — the aforesaid negro, black as the tar upon the ratline ropes — after having served them, returns to an idleness equalling his own. He, too, has his diversion 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 rows himself ashore. But not to search for sailors. He knows that would he 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. J>ut they are all on the spree — all rollicking, and if not rich, hoping soon to he. Not a man of them could he coaxed to take service on hoard an out- hound ship for a wage less than would make the voyage little profitable to her owners. 142 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. As the Chilian skipper is not only master, but proprietor 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 spread her canvas wings for a further flight to Valparaiso, he has not the remotest idea. When he enters the town, it is to meet other skippers with ships crewless as his own, and exchange condolences on their common desti- tution. On a certain day — that on which we are intro- duced to him — he has not sculled himself ashore, but abides upon his vessel, awaiting the arrival of one who has sent a message forewarning him of a visitor. Although San Francisco is fast becoming trans- formed into an American city, and already has its half-dozen newspapers, there is among these a small sheet printed in Spanish, by name El Diario. ' In it Captain Lantanas has advertised his vessel, for freight or passage, bound for Valparaiso, and A SHIP WITHOUT SAILORS. 143 to call at intermediate ports — Panama among the number. The advertisement directs reference to be made to a shipping-agent, by name Don Tomas Silvestre. In answer to it, the Chilian has received a letter from a gentleman who has already commu- nicated with the agent, and promised to present himself on board the Condor by 12 M. of this same day. Although a stranger to the port of San Francisco, Captain Lantanas has some know- ledge of his correspondent ; for Don Tomas has the day before informed him that a gen- tleman from whom he may expect to hear — the same whose name is signed to the letter — is a man of immense wealth; a landed pro- prietor, 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 may want with him, Lantanas cannot tell ; for Silvestre himself has 14-1 TKi; FLAG OF DISTRESS. not been made aware of it — tlie gentleman de- clining to state liis business to any other than the captain of the ship. On the morning of the appointed day, leaning as usual against his capstan, and puffing his paper cigar, the Chilian skipper is not in a mood for playing with his monkey pets. His mind is given to a more serious matter, his whole thoughts absorbed in conjecturing for what pur- pose his unknown correspondent may be seeking the interview. He is not without surmises, in which he is assisted by something he has heard while mixing in Spanish circles ashore — this, that the landowner in question has lately sold his land, realizing a very large sum — ^half a million dollars being the amount stated. 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- A SHIP WITHOUT SAILORS. 145 room, but would require a whole sliip, or a goodly portion of one. The Condor has still plenty of room to spare. Her hold is not half fall ; and her cabin has accommodation for several pas- sengers. It may be on this very business his correspondent is coming aboard ? So Captain Lantanas interrogates himself, while standing upon his quarter-deck, and with the glowing coal of his cigarrito sending off his hairy familiars, who, in their play, at times intrude upon him. It pleases him to think he may liaYC surmised correctly ; and, while still indulging in conjecture, he sees that which puts an end to it — a shore- boat, with a single pair of rowers, and a gentle- man — evidently a landsman — seated in the stern- sheets, to all appearance coming on for the Condor. Captain 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, VOL. I. L 146 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 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 touch- ing the ship's side is instantly made fast ; the Californian mounts the man-ropes ; and, stepping down upon the deck, hands Captain Lantanas his card. He who has thus presented himself is a man in years well up to sixty, and somewhat above medium height. Taller than he appears, through a slight stoop in the shoulders. His step, though not tottering, shows vigour impaired; and upon his countenance are the traces of recent illness, with strength not quite restored. His complexion is clear, rather rubicund, and in health might be more so; while his hair, both on beard and chin — the latter a long flowing beard — is snow- white. It could never have been very dark, but more likely of the colour called sandy. This, with grayish-blue eyes, and features showing some points of Celtic conformation, would argue him A SHIP WITHOUT SAILORS. 147 either no Spaniard, or if so, one belonging to the province of Biscay. This last he is ; for the correspondent of Captain Lantanas is Don Gregorio Montijo. CHAPTER XVII. A CHARTER-PARTY. Soox, as assured — by a glance at the card given liim — that his visitor is the gentleman who has written to appoint an interview, Captain Lantanas politely salutes ; and, jipi-japa in hand, stands waiting to hear what the haciendado may have to sa}^ The latter, panting after the effort made in ascending the man-ropes, takes a moment's time to recover breath. Then, returning the skipper's bow, he says, interrogatively : — '' Captain Lantanas, I presume ? " " Si, seiior," responds the master of the Condor, with a bow of becoming humility to one reputed so rich. Then adding : '' A dispocion de F." ** Well, captain," rejoins Don Gregorio, " I shall take it for granted that you know who I am. A CHARTER-PARTY. 149 Don Tomas Silvestre has informecl you, has he not?" " He has, senor." ^' And you received my letter ? " *' Si, senor.'* " That's all right, then. And now to proceed to the business that has brought me aboard your ship. Having seen your advertisement in the Diario, I communicated with Don Tomas; but only so far as to get your correct address, with some trifling particulars. For the rest, Fve thought it best to deal directly with yourself ; 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 you." " You compliment me, Senor Montijo." " No, no ; nothing of the kind. I but speak from the account Silvestre has given me of your character. But now to business. Your ship is advertised for freight, or passage ? " 150 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. '' Either, or both.'* " Bound for Valparaiso and intermediate ports ? " " Anywhere down the coast." " Have 3^ou passengers akeady 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 a saloon — not very large, it is true — and sleeping accommodation for six — two snug state-rooms, that mil serve, if need be, for ladies." '' That'll do. Now about the freight. Don Tomas tells me you 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 ? " A CHARTER-PARTY. 151 " Oil yes; that and a hundred times as much." '* So far good. And 3'ou can accommodate three passengers : a gentleman and two ladies ? In short, m^'self and the female members of my family — my daughter and grand-daughter ? " " Will the Seiior Montijo step into the Condor's cabin, and see for himself ? " " By all means." Captain Lantanas leads down the stair-way, his visitor following. The saloon is inspected ; after it the sleeping- rooms, right and left. " Just the thing," says Don Gregorio, speaking in soliloquy, and evidently satisfied. *' It will do admirably," he adds, addressing himself to the skipper. " And now, captain, about terms. What are they to be ? " " That, seiior, will depend on what is wanted. To what port do you wish me to take you ? " " Panama. 'Tis one of the ports mentioned in your advertisement ? " *' It is, senor." 152 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. " 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 maybe aware, are usually rated according to the class of goods. Is it gold, senor ? From your description, I suppose it is." The skipper 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 ^-et he is anxious about its safety ; and for this reason has resolved to ship it with secrecy in a private trading- 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 A CHARTER-rARTY. 153 of them queer characters — some little hotter than bandits. He dislikes the idea of trusting his gold among them, and equally his girls, since no other ladies are likely to he going that way. He has full faith in the integrity of Captain Lantanas ; knows the Chilian to he 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 the haciendado, thus reflecting, confesses his freight to be gold, and asks the skipper to name his terms. Lantanas, after a moment spent in mental cal- culation, says : '' One thousand dollars for the freight, and a hundred each for the three passages. Will that suit you, senor '? " "It seems a large sum," rejoins the ex-hacicn- dado. *' But I am aware prices arc high just now, so I agree to it. When will you be ready to sail?" 154 THE FLAG OF DISTBESS. *^I am ready now, senor — that is, if " '* If what?" The captain, rememhering his crewless ship, does not make immediate answer. " If," says the haciendado, noticing his hesi- tation, and mistaking the reason — " if you're calculating on any delay from me, you needn't. I can have everything on board in three or four days — a week at the utmost." The skipper is still silent, thinking of excuses. He dislikes losing the chance of such a profitable cargo, and yet knows he cannot name any certain time of sailing, for the want of hands to work his vessel. 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 other vessel in port is in a similar predicament. " Sefior," 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 CHARTER-PARTY. 155 a little difficulty to be got over, before I can weigh anchor." " Clearance duties — port dues to be paid. You want the passage-money advanced, I presume ? Well, I shall not object to prepaying it in part. How much will you require? " "Mil gracias, Senor Montijo. It's not any thing of that kind. Although far from rich, thank Heaven, neither I nor my craft is under embargo. I could sail out of San Francisco in half an hour, but for the want of " "Want of what?" asks the haciendado, in some surprise. ''Well, senor — sailors." '' What ! Have 3'ou no sailors ? " '' I am sorry to say, not one." " Well, Captain Lantanas, I thought it strange observing nobody aboard your ship — except that black fellow. But I supposed your sailors had gone ashore." " So have they, senor; and intend staying there. Alas ! that's the trouble. They've gone off to the 156 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. gold-diggings — every one of them, except Tdj 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 perchance meet his old master : for he has had one." *'How vexatious all this ! " says Don Gregorio. "1 suppose I shall have to look out for another ship." " I fear, you'll 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 you, Captain Lantanas. As I have told you, I'm not here without knowing something of yourself. You have a friend in Don Tomas Silvestre?" " I believe I have the honour of Don Tomas' friendship." " Well, he has recommended you in such terms A CHARTER-PARTY. 157 that I can thoroughly rely upon you; for that reason, I shall now make known w^hy I wish to travel by your ship." The Chilian skipper bows thanks for the com- l^liment, and silently awaits the proffered confi- dence. ''I've just sold my property here, receiving for it three hundred thousand dollars in gold-dust — the same I intended for your freight. It is now l}ing at my house, some three miles from town. As you must be aware, captain, this place is at present the rendezvous of scoundrels collected from every country on the face of the habitable globe, but chiefly from the United States and Australia. They live, and act, almost without regard to law ; such judges as they have being almost as great criminals as those brought before them. I feel impatient to get away from the place ; wdiich, under the circumstances, you won't wonder at. And I am naturally anxious about my gold. At any hour a band of these lawless ruffians may take it int-c 158 TEE FLAG OF DISTRESS. their heads to strip 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, you understand me ? " *' I do," is the simple response of the Chilian. He is about to add that Don Gregorio's property, as his secret, will be safe enough, so far as he can protect it, when the 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 have a house. That, I intended doing anyhow. But now, I want to take departure at once. As a Spaniard, sefior, 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, and soon as possible. It is exceedingly awkward your not having a crew. Can't something be done to pro- cure one? " A CHARTER-PARTY. 159 " The only thing is to offer extra paj*. 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 he found, were the wages made sufficiently tempting. No doubt, an advertise- ment in the Diario, offering double pay, might attract as many as would be needed for working my ship." " How much would it all amount to?" ** Possibly an extra thousand dollars." " Suppose I pay that, will you 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 you agree to these terms ? ' ' " Si, senor; they are perfectly satisfactory." " In that case, I'll be answerable for the extra Y/ages. Anything to get away from this Pande- monium of a place." "I think we shall have no great difficulty in 160 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. getting sailors. You authorize me to advertise for them?" ''I do," answers Don Gregorio. "Enough!" rejoins the skipper. "And now, senor, you may make your j)reparations for em- barking." " I've not many to make. Nearly all has been done already. It's only to get our personal bag- gage aboard, with the freight safely stowed. By the way," adds the haciendado, speaking sotto- voce : "1 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 which belongs to Silvestre. It will be safer in your cabin than anywhere else — since no one need be the wiser about the place of d3posit." "No one shall, through me." " That I feel certain of, Senor Lantanas. Don Tomas is your endorser ; and would be willing to A CHAKTER-PARTY. 161 be your bondsman, were it needed — wbicb it is not." Again tlie Condors captain bows in acknow- ledgment of the confidence reposed in bim ; and after some further exchange of speech, respecting the shipment of the treasure, and the writing out an advertisement, which Don Gregorio is to get inserted in the Diario, the hitter returns to his boat, and is rowed back to the shore ; while the Chilian skipper lights a fresh cigarrito, and Avith elbows rested on the capstan-head, resumes his customary attitude of insouciance, out of which he has been temporarily aroused. VOL. 1. CHAPTER XVIII. IN SEARCH OF A SECOND. Just about the time Don Gregorio is taking leave of Captain Lantanas, the two unwelcome, as unreceived, visitors are turning their backs upon his house. De Lara feels his discomfiture the keenest. His heart is harrowed with mingled emotions — passions of varied complexion, all evil. His lips are livid wdth rage, his brow black with chagrin ; while his eyes fairly scintillate with unsatisfied 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 IN SEARCH OF A SECOND. 163 dwelling whose hospitality has been denied him. He sees nought there to soothe, but something which still further afflicts him. Four horses are filing out through the front gate, conducted by grooms. They are saddled, bridled, ready for being mounted. To his practised eye, their capar- ison tells that they are intended only for a short excursion, not a journey. And though their saddles are in shape nearly alike, he knows that only two of them are to be mounted by men, the other two to carry ladies. " The senoritas are going out for a ride — a paseo de cavir)o — accompanied by their English guests." Simultaneously, as instinctively, the two Cali- fornians arrive at this conclusion. Now they 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 these detested rivals, riding along wild unfrequented paths, through trees overshadowing, away from M 2 164 THE FLAG' OF DISTRESS. the presence of spying domestics, or tlie inter- ference of protecting relatives, 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 embitters it the more. The ex- cursionists will have every opportunity of wander- ing 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 off with Dofia Carmen, the younger with Doiia Inez. Thus, they will ride unmolested, unobserved; converse without fear of being overheard ; clasp hands without danger of being seen — perhaps exchange kisses! the dire, desperate jealousy! Even the dull brain and cold heart of Calderon are fired by these reflections. They sting him to the quick. But 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 IN SEARCH OF A SECOND. 165 being made for mounting — noting their magni- ficent style — witli a last glance such as Satan gave when expelled from Paradise, the Creole drives the spur deep into the horse's side, and dashes off down the hill, the Californian after. At its bottom they again come to a halt, being now out of sight of the house. Facing toward his companion, De Lara says : " We're in for a fight, Faustino ; both of us." ''Not both. I don't think I'm called upon to challenge 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 stam- pede that well nigh dismounted you ; all before the face of your lady-love — right under her eyes ! You don't deem that an insult, eh ? " "But you must remember, I gave him provo- cation. At your instigation, I nearly rode over 166 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. him. Looking nt it in that light, he's in a sense excusable for what he did. Besides, he only meant it as a joke. Didn't you hear, when it was all over, how he laughed at it ? " " Not at it, hut at you. So did your sweetheart, amigo. As wo reined up under the walls, I could see her long lashes drooping down, the eyes look- ing disdain at you, with her pretty lips pouting in scorn. You're evidently out of her good graces, and you'll have to do something ere you can rein- state yourself." *' Do you really think so ? " ''I'm sure of it. Never surer of anything in my life." " But what would you have me do ? " " You ought to know without asking me. Call out the cub, and kill him — if you can. That's what I design doing with my gentleman." "Ah ! you're a dead shot; and that makes all the difference. These Anglo-Saxons always use pistols ; and if I challenge him, he'll have the choice of weapons." IN SEARCH OF A SECOND. 167 " 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 accustomed to the use of either weapon. Thanks to old Gardalet of the Kue Koyale, 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 Britisher. By the way, 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, 168 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. speaking in plain English, the sight of the card seemingly giving a fresh fillip to his spleen ; " you've had your triumph to-day. 'Twill be mine to-morrow. And, if my old fortune don't fail me, there'll be an empty seat at the mess- table of the ship Crusader,'" " You really intend fighting him ? " ** Now, Don Faustino Calderon, why do you ask that question ? " " Because, I think, all might be arranged "without ' ' " Without what ? Speak out, man ! " "Why, without any spilling of blood." "You may arrange that way, if you like. Your quarrel is a distinct one, and I've nothing to do with it — having my own hands fall. Indeed, if they were empty, I'm not so sure I should second your talking as you do. However, that's not the purpose now. In answer to your first question, I can only say what I've said before. I not only intend fighting this Crozier, but killing him. True, I may fail in my inten- IX SEARCH OF A SECOND. 169 tion — if so, there's an end of it, and of nie. For, once on the ground, I don't leave it a living man, if he do. One or both of us shall stay there, till we're carried off — dead." " Carramha ! your talk gives me the trembles. It's not pleasant to think of such things, let alone doing them." " Think your own way, and welcome. To me it would be less pleasant to leave them undone, less now, than ever in my life. After what I've gone through, I don't care much for character — in truth, not a straw. That's all stuff and preten- sion. 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 my world it counts for something — has counted already." *'What is that?" *' Courage. Losing it, I should lose every- thing. And in this very city of San Francisco, I'd be only a hound where I'm now a hunter ; 170 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. barked at b}^ every cur, and kicked by every coward, who chose to pick a quarrel with me." " There's no danger of that, De Lara. All who have had dealings with you, know better. There's little fear of any one putting a slight upon you.'" " There w^ould be if I refused to fight this fellow. Then you'd see the difference. Why, Faustino Calderon, I couldn't sit at our monte table, and keep the red-shirts from robbing us, if they didn't know 'twould be 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 don'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 IN SEAPvCH OF A SECOND. 171 opinion. At least, so far, that she shan't think me either a fool or a coward. She may be fancy- ing me the first ; but if so, she'll find herself mistaken. At all events, she'll get convinced, I'm not the last. And if it be as rumour 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 Jiand upon him — not while I live. When I'm dead, she can do as she likes." " But after what's passed, vail you ever speak to her again ? " *' Aye, that will I — in a way that'll make her listen to me." **But, surely, you don't still intend proposing to her ? " *' Perhaps. Though not till I've finished this affair with the fellow who interrupted me. Yes ; I'll give her every chance to save herself. She shall say yea, 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 172 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. a thing won't do to dally over. Do you intend to meet your man, or not ? " '^I'd rather not," replies the poltroon, hesi- tatingly ; '^ that is, if the thing can be arranged. Do you think it can, De Lara ?" ' *' Of course, it can ; your tiling, as you call it ; though not without disgrace to you. You should fight him, Faustino." " "Well ; if you say I should, why, I suppose I must. I never fired a pistol in my life, and am only second-rate with the sword. I can handle a ■machete, or a cucliilla, when occasion calls for it ; hut these weapons won't he admitted in a duel between gentlemen. I 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 his claim to the epithet. But I think you under-rate your skill with the small-sword. I've seen you doing vferywell with that weapon — at Roberto's fencing- school." IN SEARCH OF A SECOND. 173 "Yes; I took lessons there. Bat fencing is very different from fighting." "Never mind. When you get on the duelling- ground, fancy yourself within the walls of Eoherto's shooting-gallery, and that you are about to take a fresh lesson in the art cVescrime. Above all, choose the sword for your weapon." "How can I, if I'm to be the challenger?" " You needn't be. There's a way to get over that. The English ofiicers 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 they'll stay to dinner at Don Gregorio's ; and with wine to give them a start, they'll be pretty sure to have a cruise, as they call it, through the town. There, you may meet your man ; and can insult him, by giving him a cuff, spitting in his face — anything to put the onus of challenging upon him." " Por D'los! 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 174 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. can't stand seconds to one another. I know who'll act for me. Have you got a friend you 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 not at home to-day. As I chance to know, he's gone to Sbfunclon de gallos at Punta Pedro ; and hy this time should be in the cock-pit. " Why can't we go there ? Or had we better send?" " Better send, I think. 'Time's precious — at least mine is. As you know, I must be at the monte table soon as the lamps are lit. If I'm not, the bank will go begging, and we may lose our customers. Besides, there's my own second to look up, which must be done this day before I lay a hand upon the cards. V/hat hour is it ? I've not brought my time-piece with me." ' " Twelve o'clock, and a quarter past," answers Calderon, after consulting his watch. IN SEARCH OF A SECOND. 175 " Onl}' that ! Then we'll have plenty of time to get to Punta Pedro, and witness a main. Don Manuel has a big bet on his pardo, I'd like myself to stake a doubloon or two on that bird. Yes, on reflection, we'd better go to the pelea de gallos. That will be the surest way to secure the services of Diaz. Yamonos T' At this the two intending duellists again set their steeds in motion ; and, riding for a short distance along the shore-road, turn into another, which will take them to Punta Pedro. With jealous anger still unappeased, they urge their horses into a gallop, riding as if for life, on an errand whose upshot may be death — to one, or both. CHAPTEE XIX. A *•' PASEO DE CABALLO." 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 Ptange," which, running higher as it trends southward, is knov/n to Spanish Californians 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 uninhabited. Here and there only the solitary hut of a seal-hunter, or fisherman, with a small collection of the same iiear the Point itself, bearing its name, and a somewhat indifferent reputation. The Anglo- A ** PASEO DE CABALLO." 177 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 re- christened San Francisco. This route De Lara and Calderon have taken, getting into it by a cross-cut ; and along it they continue to ride, still at a gallop, with faces set for Dolores. They are not the only equestrians riding along that road. The dust kicked up by their horses' hoofs has just settled down when a second party appears, going in the same direction, though at a gentler gait ; for it is a cavalcade composed partly of ladies. It is a quartette, two of each sex ; and as the horses are the same already seen standing saddled in the court-yard of Don Gregorio's house, it is net necessary to give the names of the riders. These can be guessed. VOL. I. N 178 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. Doiia Carmen is carrying out the instructions left by her father, who, CaHfornian fashion, sup- posed he could give his sailor guests no greater treat than a ijaseo de cahallo, including an excur- sion to the old Dolores Mission ; without a visit to which no ey.ploration of the country around San Francisco can bo considered complete. It is not the least of California's "lions." Like most Spanish-American ladies, Don Gregorio's daughter takes delight in the saddle, and spends some part of each day in it. An accomplished equestrienne, she could take a five- barred gate, or a bullfinch, with any of the hunt- ing 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 regard- lessly cuts him wdth her, c^^ar^o. A " PASEO DE CABALLO." 179 Much after the same fashion acts Inez, for she, too, has learned the Californian style of equita- tion. The two present a picture that, to the eye un- accustomed to Mexican habits, might seem some- what hizarre. Their mode of mount — as already said, ct la Ducliesse de Berri — their half-male attire, hats of vicuna wool, calzoncillas lace- fringed over their feet, buff boots, and large rowelled spurs — all these give them an air of hizarrerie, at the same time a pleasing pic- turesqueness ; and, if appearing bold, still beauti- ful, as the South Sea wind flouts bach the limp brims of their sombreros, and tosses their hair into dishcvelment, while the excitement of the ride brings the colour to their cheeks — with flashes as of fire from their eyes. The young English officers regard them with glances of ardent admiration. If they have been but smitten before, they are getting fast fixed now ; and both will soon be seriously in love. The pasco de cahallo promises to terminate in a N 2 180 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. proposal for a longer journey in companionship — through life, in pairs. They are thus riding : 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 ; there the veriest country lout would criticize it. But differ- ent in California, where all ride, gentle or simple, in dresses of every conceivable cut and fashion, with no fear of being ridiculed therefor. None need attach to the dress worn by Edward Crozier. His rank has furnished him with a frock-coat, 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 escorting cavalier is equal to the occasion. She believes him equal to anything. A '' PASEO DE CABALLO." 181 With tlie other pair the circumstances are slightly different. Willie Cadwallader is no horseman, having had hut scant practice — a fact patent to all — liiez as the others. Besides, the mid is dressed in a pea-jacket ; which, although becoming aboard ship, looks a little outre in the saddle, especiall}^ upon a prancing Californian steed. Does it make the 3'oung Welshman feel ashamed of himself ? Not a bit. He is not the stuff to be humiliated on the score of an inap- propriate 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 pitching 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, delighted with his naivete, and the courage he displays in not caring for conse- quences. She knows he is out of his own ele- ment — the sea. She believes that there he would 182 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 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 they 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 monastery, where Spanish monks once lorded it over their red-skinned neophytes ; at the church, where erst ascended incense, and prayers were 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 re- mains of her mother, dropping a tear upon it — perhaps forced from her by the reflection that A " PASEO DE CABALLO." 183 soon she will be far from that sacred spot — it may be, never more to behold it ! Away from it now ; and on to that hill from which they can descry the Pacific ! In another hour ihej have reined up on its top ; and behold the great South Sea, stretching to far horizon's verge, to the limit of their vision. Before them all is bright and beautiful. Only some specs in the dim distance, the lone isles of the Farrallones. More northerly, and nearer, the " Seal " rock, and that called Campana — from its arcade hollowed out by the vrash of waves — bearing resemblance to the belfry of a church. Nearer still, below a belt of pebbly beach, a long line of breakers, foam-crested, and backed by a broad reach of sand-dunes — there termed medanos. Seated in the saddle, the excursionists con- template this superb panorama. The four are now together, but soon again separate into pairs, as they have been riding along the road. Some- how or other, their horses have thus disposed 184 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. themselves ; tliat ridden by Crozier having drawn off with the one carrying Carmen, while the steed, so ill-managed by Cadwallader, has elected to range itself alongside that of Inez. Perhaps the pairing 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 pairs apart, giving priority to those who by their years have the right to it. Crozier, looking abroad over the ocean, says : ** 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 you think of leaving Cali- fornia ?" queries the young officer. ** Oh, very soon ! My father is already making arrangements, and expects we shall set sail in a week, if not less. Indeed, he has this day been to see about taking passage for us to Panama. A *' PASEO DE CABALLO." ' 185 That's wliy lie was not at home to receive you ; leaying me to do the honours of the house, and apologise for his seeming rudeness." For that certes no apology was needed ; and Crozier is silent, not knowing what next to say. Love, reputed eloquent, is often the reverse ; and though opening the lips of a landsman, will shut those of men who follow the sea. There is a modesty ahout the latter, unfelt hy the former, especially in the presence of women. AYhy, 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 emharrassment, so far as to venture upon an interrogatory, not very pertinent : '' I suppose, Dona 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 you ? " " Under certain circumstances, I could." 186 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. " But you like it, don't you ? " '^ I do, now. In ten days from this time, I shall no longer care for it — not three straws." <« Why do you say that, Don Eduardo ? There's an enigma in your words. Please explain them?" While asking the question, her gray-blue eyes gaze into his, with an expression of searching eagerness — almost anxiety. '' Shall I tell you why, senorita ? " '^ I have asked you, senor." " Well, then, I like California now, because it contains the fairest object on earth — to me the dearest, since it is the woman I love. In ten days, or less, by her own showing, she will be away from it ; why should I care for it then ? Now, Doiia Carmen, I've given you the key to what you have called an enigma." '' Not quite. But perhaps you will pardon a woman's curiosity, if I ask the name of the lady who thus controls your likes, and dislikes, as regard our dear California?" A " PASEO DB CABALLO." 187 Crozier hesitates, a red spot flusliing out upon his cheek. He is about to pronounce a name — perhaps make 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. Her ques- tion, so quaintly, yet so impressively put — surely it courted the ansvver 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 honour do not ! To you — and I truly tell you — I have surrendered all my 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 my eyes for the answer." 188 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. She obeys ; and drawing closer, they gaze into one another's eyes ; 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 passed ; and, with hearts quivering in sweet content, they turn their thoughts to the future, full of pleasant promise. Near by are two other hearts, quite as happy as theirs; though after a scene less sentimental, and a dialogue that, to a stranger overhearing it, might appear to be in jest. For all, in real earnest, and so ending — as may be inferred from the young Welshman'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 anchor. Will you be mine, and marry me?" A '' PASEO DE CABALLO."' 189 '' I will." No need to stay longer there — no object in continuing to gaze over the ocean. ■ The horses seem instinctively to understand this ; and, turning together, set their heads for home. CHAPTEE XX. POT VALIANT. The briglit Californian sun is declining towards the crest of the Coast Kange, when two horse- men, coming from the Pacific side, commence ascending 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 cloaks — 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 colours of these garments — one scarlet, the other sky-blue — enable us to identify the wearers as Don Francisco de Lara and Don Faustino Calderon ; for in truth it is they, returning from the pelea de gallos at Punta Pedro. POT VALIANT. 191 They have seen Diaz, and arranged everything about the dueL Faustino has finally determined upon fight. Instigated by his more courageous confederate, and with further pressing on the part of Diaz — a sort of Californian bravo — his courage has been at length screwed up to the necessary pitch ; and kept there by the potent spirit of Catalonian brandy, found freely circulating around the cock-pit. A flask of the Catalan he has brought awa}^ with him, and at intervals takes a pull from it, as he rides along the road. Under its influence he becomes pot valiant ; and swears, if he can but again set eyes upon the English guardia-jnarina, he will afront him in such fashion as to leave him no loophole of escape from being the challenger. Carraif he will do as De Lara has recommended: cuff the young ofi&cer, kick him, spit in his face, anything to 2'>i*ovoke the gringo to a fight — that yellows-haired cub without hi gate or beard. And if the cur won't fight, then he shall apologize — get down upon his knees, acknowledge him, .102 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. Faustin Calderon, the better man, and for ever after surrender all claim to the smiles, as to the hand, of Inez Alvarez ! With such swaggering talk he entertains his companion, as the two are returning to town. De Lara, less noisy, is nevertheless also excited. The fiery alcohol has affected him, too. Not to strengthen his courage ; for of this he has already enough ; hut to remove the weight from off his soul, which, after the scene at Don Gregorio's, had been pressing heavily upon it. Six hours have since elapsed, and for the first three he had been brooding over his humiliation, his spirit prostrate in the dust. But the Catalan has again raised it to a pitch of exaltation ; especially when he reflects upon the prospect of the sure and speedy vengeance he is determined to take. It does not occur to him to doubt of success. With thorough reliance on his skill as a swords- man, 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, w^ho POT VALIANT. 193 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 giving vent to their spleen — the man of courage, as the coward. If not so loud, or boastingly, as his companion, De Lara expresses himself with a more spiteful and earnest determination ; repeat- ing much of what he has already said at an earlier hour, but with added emphasis. Once he sees the English officer at his rapier's point, he will show him no mercy, but run him through, with- out 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 cmpresse- VOL. I. o 194 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. ment that tells him to be truly, terribly in earnest. They have been carrying on this excited dia- logue, 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 tin roofs, reflected red in the rays of the setting sun, De Lara, suddenly remembering the pressure upon him as to time, strikes the spur sharp against his horse's ribs, and puts the animal to speed. The other imitating his example, they dash on towards Dolores. They have no intention to make stop at the Mission ; but, on reaching it, they 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 Caiifornians. A rough, swarthy- skinned fellow, in a garb that proclaims his calling to have connection with POT VALIANT. 195 the sea, thougli not tliat of a sailor. He may be a shore boatman — perhaps a pescador — though, judging b}' his general appearance, and the un- canny cast of his countenance, 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 habili- ments, he is evidently on terms of familiarity with both — the style of his salutation showing it. It is with De Lara, however, his business lies, as signified by his saying : ^' I want a word with you, Don Francisco." " What is it, Rocas ? " asks the Creole. *' Anything about seal-skins ? " laying a signi- ficant emphasis on the last word. " Carramha / No. Something of more im- portance than that." '' Money, then?" " Money." " Do you wish our speech to be private ?" o 2 196 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. " Just now, yes. Perhaps, in time, Don Faus- tino " "Oh!" interrupts the ganacTero, " clon't let me stand in the way. I'll ride slowly on ; you can overtake me, Don Francisco." " Do," says De Lara, at the same time stoop- ing down in his saddle, and continuing the conversation with Kocas, in tone so low as to prevent their speech being overheard by other queer-looking customers who have just stepped out of the tinacal, and stand loitering at its door. Whatever Ptocas may have said, it appears to make a vivid impression on the gambler. His eyes kindle up with a strange light, in which sur- prise is succeeded by an expression of cupidity ; while his manner proclaims that the revelation made to him is not only important, as he has been forewarned, but also pleasing. Their muttered dialogue is of brief duration ; ending with a remark which shows it to be only preliminary to a further, and more prolonged conference. POT VALIANT. 197 " I shall be with you to-morrow, by midday." It is De Lara who has said this ; after which adding : ^' Adios, Don Rafael! Hasta manana!" he gives his horse the spur, and gallops to overtake his travelling companion ; Eocas sauntering back towards the tinacal. CHAPTER XXI. A " GOLPE DE CABALLO." On coming up with the ganadero, De Lara rides ou silently by his side, without exhibiting any de- sire to satisfy the other's curiosity. He but piques it by saying, that Eocas has made a communi- cation of an intensely interesting kind ; which he will impart to him, Faustino, 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 get- ting cold within him. " Take another pull ! " counsels his companion; ** you may need it. We'll soon be in the town, and, perhaps, the first man we meet there will be your yellow-haired rival." A " GOLPE DE CABALLO." 199 Scarcely have the words passed De Lara's lips when something in front fixes his attention, as also that of his companion. At some distance along the road a cloud 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 this 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 destination. For, despite the enshrouding dust, they have no difficulty in iden- tifying 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 Inez Alvarez ; the other two At this point conjecture terminates. De Lara, certain, and no longer able to control himself, cries out : 200 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. " Carajof it's they returning from their excur- sion — paired off, as I supposed they would be ! Lo, Calderon ; you have your chance sooner than you expected. And without seeking it — a lucky omen ! There's your riTal, riding by the side of your sweetheart, 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. The ganadero does the same. Scanning the eques- trians ahead, they see them two and tv/o, each pair some ten or twelve paces apart from the other. Crozier and Carmen are in the advance, Cadwallader and liiez behind. De Lara looks not at the latter couple ; his eyes are all upon the former, staring with fixed inten- sity, full of jealous fire, 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 in contact ! A " GOLPE DE CABALLO." 201 " Garra'i! they are kissing ! " lie exclaims, in a tone of bitter exasperation. He can bear it no longer. "With a sliout, half angry, half anguished, he digs his spur deep, and dashes forward. The clattering of hoofs behind first warns Cad- wallader, who is nearest to the noise. For, up to this time, the lovers, absorbed in sweet converse, dream not ol danger. The young Welshman, glancing back, sees what it is, at the same time hears De Lara's wild cry. Intuitively he understands that some out- rage is intended — a repetition of the morning's work, with doubtless something more. Quickly he draws his dirk : not novv^ to be used in sport, for the mere pricking of a horse, but in serious earnest, to be buried in the body of a man — if need be. This resolve can be read in his attitude, 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 202 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. liim. The collision might cost life — in all likeli- hood, that of the aggressor. De Lara sweeps past the midshipman without saying word ; without even taking notice of him. His affair is with one further on. But now Calderon is coming up, clearly with the intent to assault, as shown in his eyes. Suddenly, however, their expression changes at sight of the bared blade. Again that diabolical dirk ! Despite a pull he has just taken from the flask, his courage fails him ; and crestfallen, as a knight compelled to lower his plume, he too passes Cadwallader, without a w^ord — riding on after De Lara. He overtakes the latter in time to be spectator of a scene ; in its commencement somewhat simi- lar to that enacted by himself, but with a very different 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 golpc de cahallo, A '' GOLPE DE CABALLO." 203 or collision of horses — a common mode of assault among Spanish Californians. Instead of tm-ning aside to avoid it, he of Shrop- shire determines on a different course. He knows he is upon a strong horse, and feels confident he can stay there. With this confidence he faces towards the advancing enemy, and after taking true hearing, spurs straight at him. Breast to hreast the horses meet, shoulder to shoulder the men. Xot a w^ord 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 sprawling in the dust beside him. Eegaining his feet, the gambler rushes to get hold of a pistol, whose butt protrudes from his saddle-holster. He is too late : Cadwalladcr has come up ; and, 204 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. dropping down out of liis saddle, as if from a ship's shrouds, makes himself master of the weapon. Disarmed, his glittering attire dust-bedaubed, De Lara stands in the middle of the road, irreso- lute, discomfited, conquered. He can do nothing now, save storm and threaten — interlarding his threats with curses — " Camjos / '' spitefully pro- nounced. The ladies, at Crozier'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 loudly laughing — Crozier, in serious tone, says : " Mr. De Lara — for your card tells me that is your name — take a sailor'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 your horse, though not your shooting-iron. That I shall take care of myself, and may return it to you when next we meet. The same advice to you, sir," he A " GOLPE DE CABALLO." 205 adds, addressing Calderon, who stands near, equally cowed and crestfallen. After dictating these humiliating conditions — which, nolens volens, the defeated hravos are ohliged to accept — the 3'oung officers leap back into their saddles, and trot off to rejoin the ladies. Having overtaken these, they continue their homeward ride, with no fear of its being again interrupted by a ^' golpc cle cahallo.'* CHAPTER XXII. *' HASTA CADIZ ! " On leaving Captain Lantanas, the liaciendado returns to liis house — though not direct. He has business to transact in the town, which stays 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. He is personally acquainted with Silvestre, who is, like himself, a Peninsular Spaniard and Biscayan. Don Gregorio knovv^s 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 ship- '' HASTA CADIZ ! " 207 ment of his gold-dust. He trembles to think of the risk he runs of losing it. San Francisco is filled with queer characters — men who would stick at nothing. Don Tomas knows this without being told. And the thought haunts the haciendado like a spectre, that he will have his treasure taken from him by theft, burglary, or bold open robbery. He has good reason for so apprehending. Among the latest accessions to the population of San Francisco all three classes of criminals are re- presented, and in no stinted numbers. There are ticket-of-leave men from Australia, jail-birds from the penitentiaries of the States, 'scape-the-gallows customers from every quarter of the globe ; to say nothing of the native bandits, of which California has its share. If known to these that 3'ellow metal, to the value of three hundred thousand dollars, was lying unguarded in the house of Don Gregorio Montijo, it would not be there many days or nights. Its owner has done what he could to keep this a secret ; but the sale and transfer 208 THE FLAG OF DISTEESS. of liis land have leaked out, as also the handsome price obtained, and paid over to him ; hence a natural inference that the cash must be deposited somewhere. And every one well knows it will 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 had tried to convert it thus — as more convenient for carriage and safety — but failed. In fine, after confiding his fears to Silvestre, and taking counsel from him, he decides upon the plan, already in part communicated to Captain Lantanas — of having the endangered gold-dust secretly conveyed to the Condor that very night. Don Tomas will provide the boat, with a trusty sailor- servant he has attached to his establishment, to assist in the removal and rowing. They can take it abroad without passing through the town, or at all touching at the port. The boat can be brought to the beach below Don Gregorio's house, and the " HASTA CADIZ ! " 209 gold quietly carried down to it. 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 everything is settled ; for they spend not many minutes in discussing the matter. The haciendado 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 appre- hensively of the unprotected treasure, and longs to be beside it. So, remounting the stout cob that brought him to town, he rides hastily home. On arrival there, he retires to his sleeping apart- ment ; where he spends the remainder of the day, having given strict 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. VOL. I. p 210 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. On the contrary, he is busy throughout the whole afternoon, getting ready his treasure for the sur- reptitious 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 rearranges it in the most convenient form for carriage to the Chilian ship, and safe stowage in her cabin lockers* He has not yet completed his task, when he hears the trampling of hoofs on the gravelled sweep outside. The riding-party has returned. The saguan-loell 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 ; then, gliding into the corridor, fling their *' HASTA CADIZ ! " 211 arms around Don Gregorio's neck — daughter and grand- daughter alike calling him "papa." They are effusively affectionate — more than usually so — for this night both have a favour to ask of him. And he knows, or can guess, what it is. He has not been blind to what has been pass- ing betvreen them, and the young English officers. He suspects that vows have been exchanged — a double proposal made — and anticipates a demand upon himself to sanction it. In both cases he is prepared to do this. For he is not unacquainted with either the character, or social standing, of those seeking an alliance with him. He has been aboard the British frigate, and from Captain Bracebridge obtained information on these points. Satisfactory in every sense. Both the young officers bear an excellent reputation. Though differing in other respects, they are alike skilled in their profession — each " every inch a seaman," as their commander worded it. Besides, both are of good family — Cadwalladcr moderately rich — Crozier in prospect of being immensely so p 2 212 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. — either of tliem fit mate for the proudest seiiora in Spain. Don Gregorio's reason for supposing, that on this day engagements have been entered into, is, that the young officers are about to take departure from the port. The Crusader is under Admiralty orders to sail. for the Sandwich Islands, soon as a corvette coming thence reaches San Francisco. Captain Bracebridge has been com- missioned by the British government to transact some diplomatic business with King Kamehameha. That done, he is to look in at the ports of 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 thus conveniently renev»-ed on the other side of the Atlantic. At dinner — w^hich is served soon after, and in sumptuous style — Don Gregorio makes his guests aware of the fact, that he has secured passages for ' Panama, and may leave San Francisco soon as they. He confides to them the secret of his having char- ^' HASTA CADIZ ! " 213 tered the Chilian ship — in short, telling them all he has told her captain — echoing the lament made by the latter about his difficulty in obtaining a crew. *' Perhaps," rejoins Crozier, after hearing this, ''I can help your skipper to at least one good sailor. Do you think. Will," he continues, address- ing 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 frigate only the day before yesterda}- — having a shake hands with his old comrades of the forecastle." "Who is the Serior 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 our books. He's off them now, as his time was out ; and like many another, though not better man, has made up his mind to go gold-seeking on the Sacramento. Still, if ho be not gone, I think I might persuade 214 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. him to take a turn on the craft jon speak of. It was once Harry's sinister luck to sKp overboard in the harbour of Guaymas — dropping almost into the jaws of a tintorero shark — and my good- fortune to be able to rescue him out of his perilous plight. He is not the man to be un- gi-ateful ; and, if still in San Francisco, I think you may count upon him for taking ser\dce on board this Chilian vessel. True, he's only one, but worth two — ay, ten. He not only knows how to work a ship's sails, but on a pinch could take a lunar, and make good any port in the Pacific." ''A most valuable man!" exclaims Don Gre- gorio ; '' would be worth his weight in gold to Captain Lantanas. I'm sure the Chilian skipper would at once make him his mate. Do you sup- pose you can find him ? " '' If in San Francisco, yes. We shall search for him this very night; and, if found, send him either to the Chilian skipper, or to the shipping- agent you've spoken of — Silvestre. By the way, what's his address ? " *' HASTA Cadiz! " 215 '* Here," answers Don Gregorio, drawing forth a card, and handing it across the table to Crozier. ** That's the place where Don Tomas transacts business. It's but a poor little shed down by the beach, near the new pier, lately constructed. Indeed, I believe he sleeps there — house-rent in San Francisco being at present something fabu- lous." " This will do," says Crozier, putting the card into his pocket. '' If Henry Blew can be found, he won't be far from Silvestre's office — if not this 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 Ximenes, and the gentlemen also retire ; not for business, but recreation out of doors, so pleasant in southern climes. Dona Carmen and her niece have ascended to 216 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. the azotea, to enjoy the sweet twilight of a Cali- fornian summer ; whither they are soon followed by 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 before leaving the sala de coiner, and while emptying their last glass together, he has been approached by his sailor guests on that subject uppermost in their thoughts, and dearest to their hearts. Asked if he be agreeable to become the father-in-law of one, and the — Cad- wallader had difficulty in finding a word for it — grandfather-in-law of the other, to both inter- rogatories he has given the same answer — ^'Yes." No wonder that, with bright faces and bounding step, the young officers rush out, and up to the azotea, there to rejoin the seiioritas. Their tale told to the latter — who have been awaiting them in anxious expectation — will save both a world of confusion and blushes. No need " HASTA CADIZ ! " 217 now for thevi to talk to '' papa." His consent has been obtained — tbcy are aware be will keep bis word. Again tbe four, now formally betrotbed, separate into twos, taking opposite sides of tbe aerial garden. Tbey converse about tbe far future — tbat await- ing tbemat Cadiz. But tbe ladies cannot over- look, or forget, some perils more proximate. Tbe retrospect of tbe day tbrows a sbadow over tbe morrow. Tbat encounter witb De Lara, and Calderon, cannot endwitbout furtber action. Not likely ; and botb aunt and niece recall it, question- ing tbeir now affianced lovers — adjuring tbem to refrain from figbting. Tbese reply, making ligbt of tbe matter, de- claring confidence in tbeir own strengtb and skill, whatever be tbe upshot — at length, so assuring their sweethearts, tbat both believe them invincible, invulnerable. What woman who does not believe the same of him who holds her heart ? Time passes ; the last moments speed silently. 218 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. sweetly, in the old, old ecstasy of all-absorbing, time-killing love. Then the inevitable *'Adios/^* though sound- ing less harshly by favour of the appended phrase —''Hasta Cadiz r' CHAPTER XXIII. ON PLEASURE BENT. The clocks of San Francisco are striking the hour of ten. The moon has risen over Monte Diablo, and sends her soft mellow beams across the waters of the Bay, imparting to their placid surface a sheen as of silver. The forms of the ships at anchor are reflected as from a mir- ror; their hulls, with every spar, stay, and brace, even to the most delicate rope of their rigging, having a duplicated representative in the fictitious counterfeit beneath. On none is there any canvas spread ; and the unfurled flags do not display 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 out in the offing ; not even the rattle of a chain dropping or weighing anchor, the 220 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. chant of a night-watch at the windlass, or the song of jovial tar entertaining his messmates as they sit squatted around the forecastle stair. Unusual this silence at such an early hour, though easily accounted for. That there are so few noises from the shijos in San Francisco Bay, is explained by the fact of there being but few men to make them — in many cases not a single soul aboard. All have deserted ; either for good, and are gone to the *' diggings," or only for the night, to take part in the pleasures and dissipa- tions of the town. Now and then a boat may be seen, putting off from, or returning to, the side of some vessel better manned — by its laborious movement, and the unmeasured stroke of oars, telling that even it lacks a full complement of crew. Inside the town, everything is different. There, 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 commenced its nightly career, or, rather, reached ON PLEASURE BENT. 221 its full flush ; siuce in Sau Francisco certain kinds of it are carried on tlirougliout all hours of the day. Business houses are closed ; but these are in small proportion to the places of pleasure, which keep their doors and windovrs wide open, and where dissipation reigns paramount, as perma- nent. Into the gambling saloons go men laden with gold-dust, often coming out with their wallets lighter than when they went in, but their hearts a 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 gatherings of a half year ! Into this pleasure-seeking 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 they are young officers belonging to a British frigate — Edward Crozier and "William Cadwallader. They 222 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. are 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 rough wooden wharfs recently erected. They are advancing along the shore-road, afoot; having declined their host's offer of horses — both saying they would prefer to walk ; Cadwallader adding, in his favourite sailor phrase, that he wished to "kick the knots out of his legs" — a remark but obscurely comprehensible to Don Gregorio. For some time after leaving the Spaniard's house, not a word passes between them. Each is occupieJi with his own thoughts, the sacredness of which keeps him silent ; absorbed in reflections, about that tender, but painful parting, speculating on what may be before them in the far uncertain future. For a time, nought intrudes upon their reverie, to disturb its natural course. The sough of the tidal surf breaking upon the beach, the occasional cry of a soaring sea-bird, or the more continuous ON PLEASURE BENT. 223 and melancholy note of the chuck- will' s-widow, do not attract their attention. They are sounds in consonance with their thoughts, still a little sad. As they draw nearer to the city, see its flashing lights, and hear its hum of voices, other and less doleful ideas come uppermost, leading to conver- sation. Crozier commences it : "Well, Will, old fellow, we've made a day of it ?" " That we have — a rousing jolly day. I don't think I ever enjoyed one more in my life." '' Only for its drawbacks." " You mean our afiair 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 was equal to old Billy Button in the circus. And then the other, you bundled over in the road, as he got up looking like a dog just out of a dust-bin ! Oh ! 'twas delicious ! The best shore adventure I've had since leaving home — something to talk about when wc get aboard the ship." 224 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. "A}', and something to do besides talking. We've 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 — after 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 v/ith sword or pistol. It feels like getting into a row with roughs in some slum of a seaport." "You're right there; and as to calling the fellow out, I'd do nothing of the kind, Ned. He's a bad lot ; so is the other. Blackguards both, as their behaviour has shown them. They don't deserve to be treated as gentlemen." " But we're in California, Will ; where the code of the duello takes in such as they. Here even thieves and cut- throats talk about protecting their honour, as they 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 ON PLEASURE BENT. 225 which one of them was shot dead in his tracks. And only the other day a judge was called out hy a man he had tried, and convicted, of some mis- demeanour ! Well ; the judge not only went, but actually killed the cad who'd stood before him as a criminal ! All that seems very absurd, but so it is. And if this scarlet-cloaked cavalier don't show the white-feather, and back out, I'll either have to kill, or cripple him ; though like as not 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 my part, I should decidedly say you had by far the best of it. After your first encounter in the morning, I thought differently; and would have so counselled you. Then the insult offered you remained un- punished. 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, VOL I. Q 226 THE FLAG OF DISTKESS. 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 black- guard. He appears a sort of Californian bravo ; and if we hadn't secured his pisto-, I supposes he'd have done some shooting with it. Well, we'll see whether he comes to reclaim it. If he don't, I shall have to send it to him. Otherwise, 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 appropriate ending to our day's fun." " Quite the contrary. It might be serious, if it should reach the ears of Bracebridge. The old disciplinarian would never believe but that we'd been in the wrong — taken the fellow's pistol from him for a lark, or something of the sort. True, we could have the thing explained, both to the ON PLEASURE BENT. 227 San Franciscan magistrate, and the frigate's cap- tain; but not without an exposure of names and circumstances. That, though it might be proper enough, would be anything but a pleasant finale to our day's fun, as you call it." "Well, I know what will," rejoins Cadwallader, after listening patiently to his comrade's explan- atory speech, " and that's a glass of something good to drink. Those sweet Spanish wines of Don Gregorio have made me thirsty as a fish. Besides, parting with dear Inez has got my heart down, and T need something to stir 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, and, shall I say, women?" " No — no !" protests Cadwallader ; " that would be an ungallant speech, after what's passed. We could never have enough of them — at least, not I." " Why, Will ; we've grown wonderfully senti- mental, and in such a short time ! Well, let's Q 2 228 THE FLAG OF DISTEESS. drop the subject of woman, and end our day with the third of three w's — wine." "Agreed!" responds the young Welshman. " But, for my part, I'd prefer ending it with a different tipple, which has also a tv for its initial letter — that's whisky. If we could only get a glass of good Scotch or Irish malt in this mushroom 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 my boots. I can't say why, but there it is; and there, I sup- pose, it'll stay, unless Dutch courage come to the rescue." " Well, you'll soon have an opportunity of getting that. As you see, we are 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 bever- age brewed upon the earth — among them your favourite whisky, and mine — * Bass's Bitter.'" ON PLEASURE BENT. 229 " Again the Spanish saw, ' Gaclci uno a su to,' as just now my sweetheart said, after I had kissed the dear girl six times in succession. But let us step out." " Don't be in such hot haste. You forget we've something to do; which must be done first — be- fore everything else." "What?" " Look up Harry Blew; find him, if we can; and coax him to take service in this Chilian ship." " He won't require much coaxing, once you say the word. The old salt is anything but ungrate- ful. Indeed, his regard for you, ever since you saved him from that shark, is more like real grati- tude than anything I ever saw. He fairly worships you, Ned. He told me the day before he left the Crusader, that parting with you was the only thing which greatly grieved him. I saw the tears trickling down his cheeks, as you shook hands with him over the rail. Even then, if you'd said stay, I believe he'd have turned back into his old berth." 230 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. " I didn't, because I wished him to do better. You know he'd have a splendid chance here in Cahfornia — 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 favour, which I should say is surer. Don Grregorio has told us he can get from the Chilian captain almost any pay he may please to ask; besides, a fair likelihood of being made his first mate. That would suit Harry to a hair; in my opinion, answering his purpose far better than any gold-washing 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 Sacramento Kiver, I'd lay large odds, he'd be back here in port, and poor as ever, 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 ON PLEASURE BENT. 231 it, and here's a fine opportunity for him to return to, and stay upon it. That for Hfe, if he likes, with better prospects than he could ever have had on board a man-o'-war. The question is, how we shall be able to find him in this rookery of a place. Did he say anything when you saw him, about where he was sojourning?" '* By Jove ! he just did. Now, I recall our conversation, I remember him telling me that he was staying at a sort of a boarding-house, or res- taurant, called the ' Sailor'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. I told the coxswain 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. 232 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. Indeed, it's not likely we'll 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 need changing our tune." "You're right about that; but the music is not likely to be made by moonlight — not much of it. See those great clouds rolling up yonder ! They'll be all over the sky in ten minutes' time, making it black as a pot of pitch." " No matter ; for what we want, gas-light will serve as well ; and there's plenty of that in San Francisco. Now for Harry Blew. After him, whisky punches at the Parker.'" "And after that?" "A Hell, if you feel that way inclined." " Surely, Ned, you don't want to go gambling ?" " I want to see life in San Francisco, as I've said ; and, as you know, gambling 's an important part of it. Yes ; I wish to inspect the elephant, ON PLEASURE BENT. 233 and I don't mind making an attempt to draw the teeth of the tiger. Allans ! or, as I should say, in the softer language of Andalusia, Nos vamosf' Thus jocosely terminating the conversation, the young o£&cers continue on at increased speed, and are soon threading the streets of San Francisco in search of the '' Sailor's Home." CHAPTEK XXIV. A TAR OF THE OLDEN TYPE. Harry Blew is a tar of the true man-o'-war type ; this of the time when sailors were sailors, and ships of oak, not iron. Such ships are scarce now; but scarcer still the skilled men who handled their ropes, and kept everything taut and trim — in short, the true sailors. Than Harry, a finer specimen 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-coloured ; of somewhat lighter tint on Sundays, after they have had their hebdomadal A TAR OF THE OLDEN TYPE. 235 shave. His face is round, with features fairly regular, and of cheerful cast, their cheerfulness heightened by the sparkle of keen gray eyes, and two rows of sound white teeth, frequently, if not continuously shown in smile. A thick shock of curling brown hair, with a well-greased ringlet drooping down over each eyebrow, supports a round-rimmed, blue-ribboned hat, well aback on his head. His shaven chin is pointed and promi- nent, 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. Notwithstanding an amplitude of shirt-collar, which falls back full seven inches, touching the shoulder-tips, the throat and a por- tion 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, but not so openly exhibited, is the figure of a damsel done in dark blue — no doubt a souvenir, if not the exact similitude, of a sweet- 236 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. heart — 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 suspicion 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, which 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 oft 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 to her he has been true as steel, up to the hour of her death, which occurred just as she was about to become Mrs. Blew. A TAR OF THE OLDEN TYPE. 237 And that sad event has kept him a bachelor up to the present hour of his life. For the girl on his breast in dark blue is a merely mythical per- sonage, though indelibly stained into his skin by a needle's point and a pinch of gunpowder — done by one of his man-o'-war shipmates while he was still only a sailor-lad. He is now forty years of age, nearly thirty of which he has passed upon the sea, being off it only in short spells while his ship lay in port. And he has seen service on several vessels — corvettes, frigates, double and treble deckers — all men-of-war, in which he has thrice circumnavi- gated 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 con- tinually 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 238 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. show symmetrical proportion. His duck trousers, fitting tightly over the hips, display a pair of limbs supple and muscular, with thighs that seem all sinew from skin to bone. In spite of his sterling qualities as a seaman, and noble character as ia 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 his non-promotion has been due to inde- pendence 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 by those disposed to speak slightingly of him ; this, that although liking salt water, he has a decided antipathy to that which is fresh, unless when taken with an admixture of rum. Then he is too fond of it. But it is his only fault ; barring A TAR OF THE OLDEN TYPE. " 239 which, a better man than Harry Blew — and, when sober, a steadier — never trod the deck of ship. As ah-eady 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 very day she dropped anchor before San Francisco, he has been set free, either to stay in the ship, by entering his name upon her books for a fresh period of service, or step out of her, and go cruis- ing on his own account, whithersoever he may wish. Taking into consideration the state of things in San Francisco just at this time, it is not strange his having 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 with mind only half made up. But the golden lure proved at length too temptingly attractive, and, yielding to it, he took a last leave of his old shipmates, was rowed ashore, and has since been 240 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. sojourning at the Sailor's Home — for he is still there, as Cadwallader rightly surmised — there in a very miserable state of mind, not knowing how his wretchedness will be relieved. CHAPTER XXV. THE sailor's home. There is a *' Sailor's Home," or "Snug Har- bour" tayern in every seaport town, often anything but home, or harbour, in a pleasant sense. This of San Francisco, 1849, is a hostelry, half eating- house, half drinking- saloon, of somewhat unpre- tentious appearance — being a rough, weather- boarded building, without planing, or paint, and only two stories in height. But if low" in stature, it is high enough in its charges, as Harry Blew has learnt long since ; these being out of all proportion to the outside appearance of the place, or its interior accommodation ; though quite in keeping with the prices of other like houses of entertainment in the Pacific seaport. Harry's original intention was to make only a short stay at the Sailor's Home — just long enough VOL. I. R 242 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. to put him throngli a bit of a spree ; for which twelve months' pay, received from the frigate's purser at parting, had amply, provided him. Then he would start off for the Feather River, or some other tributary stream of the Sacramento, where gold was being gathered, or dug for. The first part of this programme he has already carried out, with something besides ; that some- thing being the complete expenditure of all his pay — every shilling he received from the ship, and in an incredibly short space of time. He had 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. A shop parcel sent home always comes conspicu- ously marked C. 0. D. — ''Cash on Delivery." Since landing, he has not very carefully kept his dead reckoning, and is at first somewhat sur- prised to find himself so far out in it. He has plunged his hands into his pockets without en- countering coin. He searches in his sea-chest and every other receptacle where he has been accus- THE SAILOR S HOME. 243 tomed to carry, with similar disappointing result. What can become of his twelve months' wage, drawn on the day he left the Crusader? It has all disappeared ! No wonder he is unable to account for its disap- pearance ; for ever since that day, he has been anything but himself — in short, has given way to dissipation of longer continuance than ever be- fore in his life. It has lasted six days, with most part of six nights, at the end of w^hich time he has only pulled up for want of the wherewith to con- tinue it — credit being denied 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 the yet thinner shelter of a canvas tent. It was a boon to be allowed to lie on the lee- side of a B 2 244 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. wooden -walled stable ; but cost money for the privilege of sleeping in a stall, with straw litter for couch, and the radiating heat from the horses in lieu of coverlet. In the necessity of seeking some such indifferent accommodation, Harry Blew finds himself, on the seventh night after having received his discharge from the Crusader. 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 on to the gold-diggings. But how to get off, and there ? These are separate questions, 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-coach. He has not a shilling — not a red cent ; and his sea- kit sold would not realise a sum sufficient to pay his fare, even if it (the kit) were free. But it is not. On the con- trary, embargoed, '' quodded," by the keeper of the Sailor's Home, against a couple of days un- THE sailor's home. 245 paid board and lodging — with sundry imbibings across the counter, scored on the slate. The discharged man-o'-war's-man sees himself in a nasty 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. Com- paratively cheap as may be this humble hostelry, it is yet dear enough to demand ten dollars a day for indifferent bed and board. Both have been thought bad enough by Harry Blew, even though only a foremastman. But he is threatened with a still worse condition of things. Inappropriate the title bestowed on his house, for the owner of the "Home" has not the slightest hospitality in his heart. He has discovered that his English guest is " dead broke," drawing his deductions from the two days' board, and as many nights' bed, remaining unpaid. There is a notice conspicuously posted above the bar, that " scores must be settled daily." And Harry having disregarded this, has received pri- vate, but positive, notice of another kind ; to the 246 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. effect, that lie is forthwith to discontinue taking a seat at the tahle-dlidte, as also to surrender up his share of the hed he has been occupying, for he has not had a complete couch to himself. At this the discharged man-o'-war's-man has shown no anger, nor does he feel in any way affronted. He has that correct sense common to sailors, with most others trained by travel in strange lands, and knows that when cash is not forthcoming, credit cannot be expected. In California, as else- where, 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 having done it so foolishly ; and, on the whole, a good deal down-hearted. But there is a silver lining to the cloud. The Crusader 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 THE sailor's home. 247 and shipmates. A word spoken to the first hoat coming ashore, and all will be well. Shall he speak such word ? That has become the question. 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 everybody aboard ; returning to a dingy forecastle hard, and the handling of tarry ropes, after the bright dreams he has been indulging in ; to forego the gathering of gold-dust, and the exchanging it for doubloons or dollars ; in short, turning his back upon fortune — the prospect of a life com- petence, 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 remainder of his life ! While the sovereigns were still clinking in his pockets, this was the dark side of the picture — towards Sacramento, the bright one. Now that the pockets are empty, everything seems changed, and the golden sheen lies on the side of the ship. 248 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 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 me- chanical, 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 anything but a sympathetic air. For the book is before him, showing that indebtedness 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 only cash could procure an extension of that hospitality hitherto scant enough. The sailor thinks. Must he surrender? Give up his dreams of fingering yellow gold, and return to clutching black shrouds ? A glance at the grim, unrelaxed, and unrelenting visage of the bar-keeper decides him. His decision is expressed in characteristic THE sailoe's home. 249 speech, not addressed to the drink-dispenser, nor aloud, but in low, sad soliloquy : " Wi' me, I see, the old sayin's to stan' good — ' Once a sailor, still a sailor.' Harry, mon, there be no help for 't, but steer back for the Crusader T CHAPTER XXVI. OPPORTUNE VISITORS. Having resolved upon returning to his ship — and that very night, if he can hut get a hoat — Harry Blew is ahout to sally forth into the street, when his egress is unexpectedly prevented. Not by the landlord of the Sailor's Home, nor his re- presentative behind the bar. These would only be too glad to get rid of a guest with two days' reck- oning in arrear. For they have surreptitiously inspected his sea-chest, and found it to contain a full suit of '' Sunday go-ashores," with other effects which they deemed sufficient collateral security for the debt. And as it has been already hypo- thecated for this, both Boniface and bar-keeper would rather rejoice to see their sailor-guest clear out of the ''Home " for good, leaving the chest OPPORTUNE VISITORS. 251 behind him. On this condition they would be willing to wipe out the debt, both boarding 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 better 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 mil advance him a sum sufficient to release his re- tained chattels. Or, he can in all likelihood collect the money among his old messmates. Not for this reason is he so anxious to reach the ship that night, but because he has no other chance of having any place to sleep in- — save the street. The tavern- keeper has notified him, in plain terms, that he must peremptorily leave; and he is about to act upon the notification, and take departure, when prevented, as already said. What now hinders him from going out of the Home is a man coming into it ; or rather two — since two shadows have suddenly darkened the 252 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. door, and are projected across the sanded floor of the bar-room. 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 of them his best friend, who saved his life. Crozier and Cadwallader have dis- covered him. At sight of them the discharged sailor salutes promptly, and with as much respect as if all 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 back-scrape of his foot upon the floor. His obeisance ended, he stands silently awaiting whatever communication the young officers have to make. He is already aware that their business is with himself ; for the bar-room is but dimly lit, and Crozier, while crossing its threshold, not at once recognizing him, had called out : OPPORTUNE VISITORS. 253 " Is there a sailor staying here, by name Harry Blew ? " "Ay, ay, sir! " was the prompt response, the sailor himself giving it, along with the salutation described. During the short interval of silence that suc- ceeds, Harry's heart can be distinctly heard beat- ing. Lately depressed — "Down in the dumps," as he himself would word it — it is now up in his throat. The sight of his patron, the saver of his life, is like having it saved a second time. Per- haps 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 Crozier, after warmly shaking the sailor's hand, " I'm right glad to find you here. I was afraid you'd gone off to the diggings." " True, Master Ed'ard; I did intend standin' on that tack, but han't been able to get under way, for want o' a wind." 254 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. " Want of a wind ? I don't quite understand you." " Why, you 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 be plenty of gold in them 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 be, gen'lemen." " In which case, perhaps you mightn't feel in- disposed to go to sea again ? " " Just the thing I war thinkin' o', Master Ed'ard. I'd a most made up my mind to it, sir, an' war 'bout startin' to try get aboard the old Crusader, and askin' your honour to ha' my name entered on her books again. I'm willin' to join for a fresh tarm, 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 need never be without a ship, where there's a British man-of-war within hailing distance. But we don't want you to join the Crusader.'" OPPORTUNE VISITORS. 255 ^'Howis that, sir?" " Because we can help you to something a little better. At least, it will be more to your advan- tage 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'ly, 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 }ou tell me to." " No, no, Harry, not that," laughingly replies the young officer. '' That would never do. I should pit}^ those who had to eat the dishes you'd dress for them. Besides, I should be sorry to see you stewing your strength away 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 birth on board a trading-ship, and one with some special advantages. She's a Chilian vessel, and her captain is, I believe, either Chilian 256 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. or Spanish. That won't make any difference to you?" " Not a doit, sir. I don't care what the ship's colours be, nor what country her skipper, so long's he allows good wages an' plenty o' grub." " And plenty of grog too, Harry ?" ''Ay, ay, sir. I confess to a weakness for that — leastways the reg'lar three times a day." "No doubt you'll get it, as often as you've a mind. But, Harry, I have a word to say about that. Besides my interest in your own welfare, I've another and more selfish one in this Chilian ship. So has Mr. Cadwallader. We both want you to be on your best behaviour during the trip you're to take in her. On board will be two lady passengers, as far as Panama; for the ship is bound thither, and for ports beyond — I believe as far as Valparaiso. But the ladies are to land at Panama ; and, so long as they're with you, you must do everything in your power to make things Agreeable for them. If they should ever be in OPPORTUNE VISITORS. 257 any danger — from storm, shipwreck, or otherwise — you'll stand by them ?" "Yes, Harry," adds Cadwallader ; "you'll do that, won't you ?" " Lor', your honors ! " exclaims the sailor, show- ing surprise. " Sure ye needn't a put sich questin to me — a British man-o'-war's-man ? I'd do that much, anyhow, 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, Harry ! How do you know they are either one, or the other?" asks Crozier, surprised; Cadwallader repeating the question. " Lor' love ye, masters ! Do ye think a common sailor han't no eyes in his head, for anythin' 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' ar- terward took the same ashore, along wi' two young gen'lemen, as went to see 'em home. Sure, sirs, actin' cox on that occasion, I couldn't help hearin' VOL. I. s 258 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. some o' the speeches as passed in the starn-sheets — tho' they wur spoken in the ears o' the say- noritas, soft as the breeze that fanned their fair cheeks, an' brought the colour out on 'em red as Kibston pippins." ** Avast again, you rascal ! So you've been eavesdropping, have you ? I quite forgot you understood Spanish." " Only a trifle, Master Ed'ard." " Too much for that occasion." " Ah ! well, your honour, it may stand me in stead now — aboard the ship you speak o'." ** Well, Harry ; I'm not going to scold you, seeing that you couldn't help hearing what you did. And now, I may as well tell you that the young ladies jou 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." " That you may depend on, sir. Any one as touches hair o' their heads, to do 'em an injury, '11 have to tear the whole o' his off the head o' Harry Blew. I'll see 'em safe to Panama, or OPPORTUNE VISITORS. 259 never show myself there. I promise that ; an' I think hoth your honors '11 take the word of a British man-o'-war's-man." *' That's enough — perfectly satisfactory ! Now to give you the necessary directions about joining this ship. She's lying at anchor somewhere about in the bay. I didn't think of getting her name, but you'll find her easily enough. An' you needn't go in search of her till you've seen the gentleman whose name is upon this card. You see: 'Don Tomas Silvestre,' a ship-agent. His office is down in one of the streets by the strand. Eeport yourself to him first thing in the morning. In all likelihood he'll engage you on sight, make out your papers, and give you full directions for getting aboard the ship. It appears she's short of hands ; indeed, even with- out a single sailor. And, by the way, Harry, if you apply soon enough, it's good as certain you'll be made mate — first at that ; all the more from your being able to speak Spanish. It's too late for you to do anything about it to-night ; but s 2 260 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. don't oversleep yourself. Be at the ship-agent's to-morrow, betimes." "Ye can trust me for that, sir. I'll show my figurehead there first thing in the mornin'. No fears o' any one getting theer afore me, if they've not gone a'ready." *' I think no one will be before you — I hope not. Send us word how you have succeeded, as the Crusader 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. Remem- ber, then, what we've said about the senoritas. We shall rely upon your fidelity." " An' 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, satis- fied, " We must now part ; but let's hope we'll meet again. When you get back to England you know where to find me. So, good-bye ! Give us a grip of your honest fist, and God bless you ! " Saying this, he grasps the horny hand of the OPPORTUNE VISITORS. 261 sailor, and warmly presses it. The pressure is returned by a squeeze, that gives assurance of more than ordinary friendship. It is the grip of true gratitude ; and the look which accom- panies it tells of a devoted friendship, bordering on adoration. Cadwallader also exchanges a like parting salutation; after which, the young officers start off, to continue their cruise through the streets of " Frisko." CHAPTER XXVII. AN INHOSPITABLE HOSTELEY. Hakry Blew stands in the doorway of the. Sailor's Home, watching the two gentlemen as they walk away, his eyes glowing with gratitude and sparkling with joy. And no wonder, con- sidering the change in his situation brought about by their influence. Ten minutes before, his spirits were at the 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 foremastman, has given him a fillip, not only restoring them to their ordinary condition of cheeriness, but raising them to highest exalta- tion. The only damper is regret at parting with the fine young fellow who has done so much for him. AN INHOSPITABLE HOSTELRY. 263 But he has passed through that ah-eady, 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 Harry has been made ac- quainted with her name, as also that of Inez Alvarez — and to be entrusted with a sort of guardianship over these young ladies is a proud thought to the ex-man-o'-war's-man — a fine feather in his cap. To carry out the confidence thus reposed in him will be a labour of love ; and he vows in his heart it shall be done, if need be, at the risk of life. Indeed, the interview just ended has made a new man of him in more senses than one ; for upon the spot he registers a mental resolve to give up dram-drinking for ever, or at all events till he has seen his charge — the two Spanish senoritas — safe landed at Panama, and the 264 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. Chilian ship snug in the harbour of Valparaiso. After that, he is less sure that he may not again go upon a spree, and possibly a big one. Heaving a sigh as the English 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 morning, so that he may be early at the office of the ship- agent. And now, again, a shadow, though only a slight one, comes over his countenance. He has still before him the undetermined question, where he is to sleep. Notwithstanding his fine prospects for the future, the present is still unchanged, and yet unprovided for. Unfortunately, he did not think of this while the officers were with him, else a word would have made all well. Either of them, he doubted not, would have relieved his necessities had they been but told of them. Too late now ; they are gone out of sight, out of hail, and whither he cannot tell or guess ; and to attempt searching AN INHOSPITABLE HOSTELRY. 265 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 usually grave coun- tenance is now beset with smiles. The fellow- has got it into his head that his sailor-guest is no longer impecunious. The navy gentlemen just gone have no doubt been to engage him for their ship, and perhaps made him an advance of wages. "Well, my salt," says he, in a tone of jocular familiarity, " I guess you've got the shiners now, an' kin settle up your score ? " "No, indeed, sir," answers Harry, more than ever taken aback ; " I'm sorry to say I ha'n't." " You hain't ! Then what hev them gold-but- toned fellers been palaverin' ye about ?" " Not about money, master. Them's two o' the officers belongin' to my old ship — the British frigate Crusader. An' fine young fellows they be too." " Much good their finikin fineness seems to 266 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. 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 inquisitiveness, 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 sailor-man, they won't pay your board bill." "I know that," returns the other, 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 — not so much as a shake-down." " I'll pay for them first thing in the mornin'." "You'll pay for 'em this night — now, if you AN INHOSPITABLE HOSTELRY. 267 cale'late to get 'em. An' if you've no cash, 'tain't any use talkin'. What d'ye think we keep a tavern for ? 'T would soon be to let — bar, beds, and all — if we'd only such customers as you. So, the sooner you slope, the better the land- lord '11 like it. He's jest gin me orders to tell ye clar out." "It's gallows hard, master," says Harry, heaving a sigh ; '^ the more so, as I've got the promise o' a good berth 'board a ship that's down in the harbour. The gentlemen you seed have just been to tell me about it." " Then why didn't they give you the money to clar your kit ? " " They'd have done that — no doubt of it — if 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 you the wherewithal to git there. But, come ! it's no use shiUy-shallyin' any longer. The landlord 268 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. won't like it. He's gin liis orders sharp : Pay or go." " Well, I suppose I must go." " You must ; an', as I have 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 " brandy smashes," and tossed down a couple of dollars to pay for them. Harry Blew turns towards the door; and, without saying another word, steps out of the room. Once on the street, he does not stop, or stand hesitating. The hospitality of the so-called "home" has proved a sorry sham; and, in- dignant at the shabby treatment received, 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 everything found for him, he has never before experienced the pang of having no AN INHOSPITABLE HOSTELRY. 269 place to lay his head. He not only feels it now, in all its unpleasantness, but fancies the passers- by can tell all about the humiliating position he is placed in. Haunted by this fancy — urged on by it — he quickens his steps ; nor stays them till out of sight of the Sailor's Home, out of the street in which the detestable tavern stands. He even dis- likes the idea of having to go back for his chest ; which, however, he must sometime do. Meanwhile what is to become of him for the remainder of that night ? Where is he to obtain supper, and a bed? About the latter he cares the least ; and having had no dinner and but a spare breakfast he is hungry — 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 unhappy frame of body as of mind he strays on along the street. There is no lack of food before his eyes, almost within reach of his hand ; but only to tantalise, and still further whet the edge of his appetite. Eating-houses are 270 THE FLAG OF DISTRESS. open all around him ; and under their blazing gas-jets he can see steaming dishes, and savoury- joints, in the act of being set upon tables sur- rounded by guests seeming hungry as himself, but otherwise better off. He, too, might enter there 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 going into a restaurant without even a penny in his pockets ? He could only 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. Again the double question recurs : where is he to get supper, and where sleep ? And again he regrets not having given his con- fidence to the young gentlemen, and told them of the " fix " he was in. Either would have relieved AN INHOSPITABLE HOSTELRY, 271 him on the instant, without a word. But it is too late now to think of it, or hope seeing them in the streets. By this time, in all likeli- hood, they have started back to their ship. How he wishes himself aboard the Crusader ! How happy he would feel in her forecastle, among his old shipmates ! It cannot be ; and therefore it is idle to ponder upon it. What on earth is he to do ? A thought strikes him. It is of the ship-agent whose card Crozier left with him, and w^hich he has thrust into his coat- pocket. He draws the bit of pasteboard out, and holds it up to a street-lamp, to make himself acquainted with the ship-agent's address. The name he remembers, 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 272 THE FLAG OF DISTEESS. 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 Don Tomas Silvestre. END OF VOL. I. Woodfall & Kinder, Printers, Milford Lane, Strand, London, W.C. UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS-URBANA 3 0112 074723237