The Flag of Distress Part 30

"It shouldn't; since it will give you a fresh lease of sweet life; and renew your hopes of having the wife you want. But come; we must get away if we wish to avoid being taken away--though, I fancy, there's nothing to apprehend for some hours yet. The _gringos_ have gone on board their ship, and are not likely to come on sh.o.r.e again before breakfast. What with their last night's revelry, it'll take them some time to clear the cobwebs out of their eyes after waking up. Besides, if they should make it a law matter, there'll be all the business of looking up warrants, and the like. They do such things rather slowly in San Francisco. Then there's the ten miles out here; even if they strike our trail straight. No; we needn't be in a hurry so far as that goes.

But the other's a thing that won't keep, and must be set about at once.

Fortunately, the road that takes us to a place of concealment, is the same we have to travel upon business; and that is to the rancho of Rocas. There I've appointed to meet Diaz, who'd have come with us here, but that he preferred staying all night in the town. But he'll be here betimes, and we can all remain with old Rafael till this ugly wind blows past; which it will in a week, or soon as the English ship sails off.

If not, we must keep out of sight a little longer, or leave San Francisco for good."

"I hope we'll not be forced to that. I shouldn't at all like to leave it."

"Like it or not, you may have no choice. And what does it signify where a man lives, so long as he's got sixty thousand dollars to live on?"

"True; that ought to make any place pleasant."

"Well; I tell you you'll have it--maybe more. But not if we stand palavering here. _Nos vamos_!"

A call from Calderon summoned a servant, who is directed to have the horses brought to the door.

These soon appear, under the guidance of two ragged grooms; who, delivering them, see their masters mount and ride off they know not whither; nor care they so long as they are themselves left to idleness, with a plentiful supply of black beans, jerked-meat, and _monte_.

Soon the two hors.e.m.e.n disappear behind a ridge of hills; and the hypothecated house resumes its wonted look of desolation.

CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT.

A CONVERSATION WITH QUADRUMANA.

Notwithstanding his comfortable quarters in the frigate's forecastle, Harry Blew is up by early daybreak, and off from the ship before six bells have sounded.

Ere retiring to rest, he had communicated to his patron, Crozier, a full account of his zigzag wanderings through the streets of San Francisco, and how he came to bring the cutter's crew to the rescue.

As neither of the young officers is on the early morning watch, but both still abed, he does not wait their rising. For, knowing that the adage, "First come, first served," is often true, he is anxious as soon as possible to present himself at the office of the agent Silvestre, and from him get directions for going on board the Chilian ship. He is alive to the hint given him by Crozier, that there may be a chance of his being made a mate.

As yet he does not even know the name of the vessel, but that he will learn at the office, as also where she is tying.

His request to the lieutenant on duty for a boat to set him ash.o.r.e, is at once and willingly granted. No officer on that frigate would refuse Harry Blew; and the dingy is placed at his service.

In this he is conveyed to the wooden pier, whose planking he treads with heavier step, but lighter heart, than when, on the night before, he ran along it in quest of _Crusaders_. With weightier purse too, as he carries a hundred pound Bank of England note in the pocket of his pea-jacket--a parting gift from the generous Crozier--besides a number of gold pieces received from Cadwallader, as the young Welshman's share of grat.i.tude for the service done them.

Thus amply provided, he might proceed at once to the "Sailor's Home,"

and bring away his embargoed property.

He does not; thinking it better first to see about the berth on the Chilian ship; and therefore he steers direct for the agent's office.

Though it is still early, by good luck, Don Tomas chances to be already at his desk; to whom Harry hands the card given him by Crozier, at the same time declaring the purpose for which he has presented himself.

In return, he receives from Silvestre instructions to report himself on board the Chilian ship, _El Condor_; Don Tomas furnishing him with a note of introduction to her captain, and pointing out the vessel--which is visible from the door, and at no great distance off.

"Captain Lantanas is coming ash.o.r.e," adds the agent; "I expect him in the course of an hour. By waiting here, you can see him, and it will save you boat-hire."

But Harry Blew will not wait. He remembers the old saying about procrastination, and is determined there shall be no mishap through negligence on his part, or n.i.g.g.ardliness about a bit of a boat-fare. He has made up his mind to be the _Condor's_ first mate--if he can.

Nor is it altogether ambition that prompts him to seek the office so earnestly. A n.o.bler sentiment inspires him--the knowledge that, in this capacity, he may be of more service, and better capable of affording protection, to the fair creatures whom Crozier has committed to his charge.

The watermen of San Francisco do not ply their oars gratuitously. Even the shabbiest of sh.o.r.e-boats, hired for the shortest time, exacts a stiffish fare. It will cost Harry Blew a couple of dollars to be set aboard the _Condor_, though she is lying scarce three cables' length from the sh.o.r.e!

What cares he for that? It is nothing now.

Hailing the nearest skiff with a waterman in it, he points to the Chilian ship, saying:

"Heave along, lad; an' put me aboard o' yonder craft--that one as shows the three-colour bit o' bunting wi' a single star in the blue. The sooner ye do your job, the better ye'll get paid for it."

A contract on such conditions is usually entered into with alacrity, and with celerity carried out. The boatman beaches his tiny craft, takes in his fare, and in less than ten minutes' time Harry Blew swarms up the man-ropes of the Chilian ship, strides over the rail, and drops down upon her deck.

He looks around, but sees no one--at least nothing in the shape of a sailor. Only an old negro, with skin black as a boot, and crow-footed all over the face, standing beside two singular creatures nearly as human-like as himself, but covered with fox-coloured hair!

The ex-man-o'-war's man is for a time in doubt as to which of the three he should address himself. In point of intelligence there seems not much to choose. However, he with the black skin cuts short his hesitation by stepping forward, and saying:

"Well, ma.s.s'r sailor-man, wha' you come for? S'pose you want see de cappen? I'se only de cook."

"Oh, you're only the cook, are you? Well, old caboose; you've made a correct guess about my bizness. It's the capten I do want to see."

"All right. He down in de cabin. You wait hya. I fotch 'im up less'n no time!"

The old darkey shuffling aft, disappears down the companion-way, leaving Harry with the two monstrous-looking creatures, whom he has now made out to be orang-outangs.

"Well, mates!" says the sailor, addressing them in a jocular way, "what be your opeenyun o' things in general? D'ye think the wind's goin' to stay sou'-westerly, or shift roun' to the nor'-eastart?"

"Cro--cro--croak!"

"Oh, hang it, no. I ain't o' the croakin' sort. Ha'n't ye got nothin'

more sensible than that to say to me!"

"Kurra--kra--kra. Cro--cro--croak!"

"No; I won't do anythink o' the kind; leastways, unless there turns out to be short commons 'board this eer craft. Then I'll croak, an' no mistake. But I say, old boys, how 'bout the grog? Reg'lar allowance, I hope--three tots a day?"

"Na--na--na--na--na--boof! Ta--ta--ta--fuff!"

"No! only two, ye say! Ah! that won't do for me. For ye see, shipmates--I s'pose I shall be callin' ye so--'board the old _Crusader_, I've been 'customed to have my rum reg'lar, three times the day; an' if it ain't same on the _Condor_, in the which I'm 'bout to ship, then, shiver my spars! if I don't raise sich a rumpus as--"

"Kurra--kurra--cro--cro--croak! Na--na--na--boof--ta--ta--pf--pf-- piff!"

The sailor's voice is drowned by the gibbering of the orangs, his gesture of mock-menace, with the semi-serious look that accompanied it, having part frightened, part infuriated them.

The fracas continues, until the darkey returns on deck followed by the skipper; when the cook takes charge of the _quadrumana_, drawing them off to his caboose.

Captain Lantanas, addressing himself to the sailor, asks: "_Un marinero_?" [A seaman.]

"_Si, capitan_." [Yes, captain.]