The Flag of Distress Part 39

"_Adios, California_!"

Land no longer in sight. The ship is _au large_ on the ocean.

CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN.

A TATTOO THAT NEEDS RETOUCHING.

The great Pacific current in many respects resembles the Gulf Stream of the Atlantic. Pa.s.sing eastward under the Aleutian Archipelago, it impinges upon the American continent by Vancouver's Island; thence setting southward, along the Californian coast, curves round horseshoe shape, and sets back for the central part of the South Sea, sweeping on past the Sandwich Isles.

By this disposition, a ship bound from San Francisco for Honolulu has the flow in her favour; and if the wind be also favourable, she will make fast way.

As chance has it, both are propitious to the _Crusader_, and the warship standing for the Sandwich Islands will likely reach them after an incredibly short voyage.

There are two individuals on board of her who wish it to be so; counting every day, almost every hour, of her course. Not that they have any desire to visit the dominions of King Kamehameha, or expect pleasure there. On the contrary, if left to themselves, the frigate's stay in the harbour of Honolulu would not last longer than necessary to procure a boat-load of bananas, and replenish her hen-coops with fat Kanaka fowls.

It is scarce necessary to say that they, who are thus indifferent to the delights of Owyhee, are the late-made lieutenant, Crozier, and the midshipman, Cadwallader. For them the brown-skinned Hawaian beauties will have little attraction. Not the slightest danger of either yielding to the blandishments so lavishly bestowed upon sailors by these seductive damsels of the Southern Sea. For the hearts of both are yet thrilling with the remembrance of smiles vouchsafed them by other daughters of the sunny south, of a far different race--thrilling, too, with the antic.i.p.ation of again basking in their smiles under the sky of Andalusia.

It needs hope--all they can command--to cheer them. Not because the time is great, and the place distant. Sailors are accustomed to long separation from those they love, and, therefore, habituated to patience.

It is no particular uneasiness of this kind which shadows their brows, and makes every mile of the voyage seem a league.

Nor are their spirits clouded by any reflections on that, which so chafed them just before leaving San Francisco. If they have any feelings about it, they are rather those of repentance for suspicions, which both believe to have been unfounded, as unworthy.

What troubles them now--for they are troubled--has nought to do with that. Nor is it any doubt as to the loyalty of their _fiancee_; but fear for their safety. It is not well-defined; but like some dream which haunts them--at times so slight as to cause little concern, at others, filling them with keen anxiety.

But in whatever degree felt, it always a.s.sumes the same shape--two figures conspicuous in it, besides those of their betrothed sweethearts--two faces of evil omen, one that of Calderon, the other De Lara's.

What the young officers saw of these men, and what more they learnt of them before leaving San Francisco, makes natural their misgivings, and justifies their fears. Something seems to whisper them, that there is danger to be dreaded from the gamblers--desperadoes as they have shown themselves--that through them some eventuality may arise, affecting the future of Carmen Montijo and Inez Alvarez--even to prevent their escaping from California.

Escape! Yes; that is the word which Crozier and Cadwallader make use of in their conversation on the subject--the form in which their fear presents itself.

Before reaching the Sandwich Islands, they receive a sc.r.a.p of intelligence, which in some respect cheers them. It has become known to the _Crusader's_ crew that the frigate is to make but short stay there-- will not even enter the harbour of Honolulu. The commission entrusted to her captain is of no very important nature. He is simply to leave an official despatch, with some commands for the British consul: after which head round again, and straight for Panama.

"Good news; isn't it, Ned?" says Cadwallader to his senior, as the two on watch together stand conversing. "With the quick time we've made from 'Frisco, as the Yankees call it, and no delay to speak of in the Sandwiches, we ought to get to the Isthmus nearly as soon as the Chilian ship."

"True; but it will a good deal depend on the time the Chilian ship leaves San Francisco. No doubt she'd have great difficulty in getting a sufficient number of hands. Blew told you there was but the captain and himself!"

"Only they; and the cook, an old darkey--a runaway slave, he said.

Besides a brace of great red baboons--orangs. That was the whole of her crew, by last report! Well; in one way we ought to be glad she's so short," continues the midshipman. "It may give us the chance of reaching Panama soon as she, if not before her; and, as the frigate's destined to put into that port, we may meet the dear girls again, sooner than we expected."

"I hope and trust we shall. I'd give a thousand pounds to be sure of it. It would lift a load off my mind--the heaviest I've ever had on it."

"Off mine, too. But even if we don't reach Panama soon as the Chilian craft, we'll hear whether she's pa.s.sed through there. If she have, that'll set things right enough. We'll then know they're safe, and will be so--'_Hasta Cadiz_'."

"It seems a good omen," says Crozier, reflectingly, "that we are not to be delayed at the Islands."

"It does," rejoins Cadwallader; "though, but for the other thing, I'd like it better if we had to stay there--only for a day or two."

"For what reason?"

"There!" says the midshipman, pulling up his shirtsleeve, and laying bare his arm to the elbow. "Look at that, lieutenant!"

The lieutenant looks, and sees upon the skin, white as alabaster, a bit of tattooing. It is the figure of a young girl, somewhat scantily robed, with long streaming tresses: hair, contour, countenance, everything done in the deepest indigo.

"Some old sweetheart?" suggests Crozier.

"It is."

"But _she_ can't be a Sandwich Island belle. You've never been there?"

"No, she isn't. She's a little Chilena, whose acquaintance I made last spring, while we lay at Valparaiso. Grummet, the cutter's c.o.xswain, did the tattoo for me, as we came up the Pacific. He hadn't quite time to finish it as you see. There was to be a picture of the Chilian flag over her head, and underneath the girl's name, or initials. I'm now glad they didn't go in."

"But what the deuce has all this to do with the Sandwich Islands?"

"Only, that, there, I intended to have the thing taken out again.

Grummet tells me he can't do it, but that the Kanakas can. He says they've got some trick for extracting the stain, without scarring the skin, or only very slightly."

"But why should you care about removing it? I acknowledge tattooing is not nice, on the epidermis of a gentleman; and I've met scores, like yourself, sorry for having submitted to it. After all, what does it signify? n.o.body need ever see it, unless you wish them to."

"There's where you mistake. Somebody _might_ see it, without my wishing--sure to see it, if ever I get--"

"What?"

"Spliced."

"Ah! Inez?"

"Yes; Inez. Now you understand why I'd like to spend a day or two among the South Sea Islanders. If I can't get the thing rubbed out, I'll be in a pretty mess about it. I know Inez would be indulgent in a good many ways; but when she sees that blue image on my arm, she'll look black enough. And what am I to say to her? I told her, she was the first sweetheart I ever had; as you know, Ned, a little bit of a fib.

Only a white one; for the Chilena was but a mere fancy, gone out of my mind long ago; as, no doubt, I am out of hers. The question is, how's her picture to be got out of my skin? I'd give something to know."

"If that's all your trouble, you needn't be at any expense--except what you may tip old Grummet. You say he has not completed the portrait of your Chilena. That's plain enough, looking at the shortness of her skirts. Now let him go on, and lengthen them a little. Then finish by putting a Spanish flag over her head, instead of the Chilian, as you intended, and underneath the initials 'I.A.' With that on your arm, you may safely show it to Inez."

"A splendid idea! The very thing! The only difficulty is, that this picture of the Chilian girl isn't anything like as good-looking as Inez.

Besides, it would never pa.s.s for her portrait."

"Let me see. I'm not so sure about that. I think, with a few more touches, it will stand well enough for your Andalusian. Grummet's given her all the wealth of hair you're so constantly bragging about. The only poverty's in that petticoat. But if you get the skirt stretched a bit, that will remedy it. You want sleeves, too, to make her a lady.

Then set a tall tortoise-sh.e.l.l comb upon her crown, with a spread of lace over it, hanging down below the shoulders--the mantilla--and you'll make almost as good an Andalusian of her as is Inez herself."

"By Jove! you're right; it can be done. The bit added to the skirt will look like a flounced border; the Spanish ladies have such on their dresses. I've seen them. And a fan--they have that too. She must have one."

"By all means, give her a fan. And as you're doubtful about the likeness, let it be done so as to cover her face--at least the lower half of it; that will be just as they carry it. You can hide that nose, which is a trifle too snub for your _fiancee_. The eyes appear good enough."

"The Chilena had splendid eyes!"

"Of course, or she wouldn't have her portrait on your arm. But how did the artist know that? Has he ever seen the original?"

"No; I described her to him; and he's well acquainted with the costume the Chilian girls wear. He's seen plenty of such. I told him to make the face a nice oval, with a small mouth, and pretty pouting lips; then to give her great big eyes. You see he's done all that."