The Flag of Distress Part 43

"Maybe, jest as well ye didn't, Master Blew. Me an' Bill Davis tried that dodge; we went all the way to the washin's on Feather River; but foun' no gold, only plenty o' hard work, wi' precious little to eat, an'

less in the way o' drink. Neyther o' us likin' the life, we put back for the port."

For all his frankness in confessing to the cat-o'-nine tails on board a warship, Striker says nothing about a rope of a different kind he and his chum Davis were very near getting around their necks on the banks of that same Feather River, and from which they escaped by a timely retreat upon "'Frisco."

"Well," rejoins Blew, in a tone of resignation; "as you say, maybe I've did the wisest thing after all, in not goin' that way. I might 'a come back empty-handed, same as yerself an' Davis. Ye say liquor war scarce up there. That 'ud never 'a done for me. I must have my reg'lar allowance, or--. Well, no use sayin' what. As an old man-o'-war's man you can can understan' me, Striker. An' as the same, I suppose you won't object to a tot now?"

"Two, for that matter," promptly responds Striker, like all his sort-- drouthy.

"Well; here's a drop o' rum--the best Santa Cruz. Help yourself!"

Blew presents a black-jack bottle to the helmsman, who, detaching one hand from the spokes, takes hold of the bottle. Then, raising it to his lips, and keeping it there for a prolonged spell, returns it to its owner, who, for the sake of sociability, takes a pull himself. All this done, the dialogue is renewed, and progresses in even a more friendly way than before; the Santa Cruz having opened the heart of the Sydney Duck to a degree of familiarity; while, on his side, the mate, throwing aside all reserve, lets himself down to a level with the foremast-man.

It ends in their establishing a confidence, mutual and complete, of that character known as "thickness between thieves."

Blew first strikes the chord that puts their spirits _en rapport_, by saying:

"Ye tell me, Striker, that ye've had hard times an' some severe punishment. So's had Harry Blew. An' ye say ye don't care about that.

No more cares he. In that we're both o' us in the same boat. An' now we're in the same ship--you a sailor afore the mast, I first officer-- but for all the difference in our rank, we can work thegether. An'

there's a way we can both o' us do better. Do you want me to tell it ye?"

"Ay, ay; tell it. Jack Striker's ears are allus open to 'ear 'ow he can better his sittivation in life. I'm a listener."

"All right. I've observed you're a good hand at the helm. Would ye be as good to go in for a job that'll put a pile o' money in your pocket?"

"That depends. Not on what sort o' job; I don't mean that. But what's the figger--the 'mount o' the money--how much?"

"Puttin' it in gold, as much as you can carry; ay, enough to make you stagger under it."

"An' you ask if I'm good for a job like that? Funny question to ask--it are; 'specially puttin' it to ole Jack Striker. He's good for't--wi'

the gallows starin' him full in the face. Danged if he an't!"

"Well; I thought you wouldn't be the one to show basket-faced 'bout it.

It's a big thing I hev on hand, an' there'll be a fortin' for all who go in for it."

"Show Jack Striker the chance o' goin' in, an' he'll show you a man as knows no backin' out."

"Enough, shipmate. The chance is close to hand; aboard o' this ship.

Below, in her cabin-lockers, there's stowed somethin' like half a ton o'

glitterin' gold-dust. It belongs to the old Spaniard that's pa.s.senger.

What's to hinder us to lay hands on it? If we can only get enough o'

the crew to say _yes_, there needs be no difficulty. Them as won't 'll have to stan' aside. Though, from what I see o' them, it's like they'll all come in. Divided square round, there'd be atween twenty an' thirty thousand dollars apiece. Do that tempt ye. Striker?"

"Rayther. Wi' thirty thousand dollars I'd ne'er do another stroke o'

work."

"You needn't then. You can have all o' that, by joinin' in, an' helpin'

me to bring round the rest. Do you know any o' them ye could speak to 'bout the bizness--wi' safety, I mean?"

"I do. Two or three. One sartin'; my ole chum, Bill Davis. He can be trusted wi' a secret o' throat-cuttin', let alone a trifle such as you speak o'. An' now, Master Blew, since you've seen fit to confide in me, I'm goin' to gi'e ye a bit o' my confidince. It's but fair 'tween two men as hev got to understan' one the tother. I may as well tell ye that I know all about the stuff in the cabin-lockers--hev knowed it iver since settin' fut in the _Condor's_ forc's'l. Me an' Bill war talkin'

o't jist afore I coomed to the wheel. You an't the only one as hez set theer hearts on hevin' it. Them Spanish chaps hez got it all arranged arready--an' had afore they shipped 'board this barque. Thar's the four o' 'em, as I take it, all standin' in equal; while the rest o' the crew war only to get so much o' a fixed sum."

"Striker, ye 'stonish me!"

"Well, I'm only tellin' ye what be true, an' what I knows to be so. I'm gled you're agreeable to go in wi' us; the which 'll save trouble, an'

yer own life as well. For I may as well tell ye, Master Blew, that they'd made up thar minds to send ye to the bottom o' the briny, 'long wi' skipper an' the ole Spaniard, wi' the black throwed into the bargain."

"That's a nice bit o' news to hear, by jingo! Well, Jack, I'm thankful to ye for communicatin' it. Lord! it's lucky for me we've this night chanced to get talkin' thegether."

"Thar may be luck in't all roun'. Bill an' me'd made up our minds to stan' out for a equal divide o' the dust--like shares to ivery man.

Shud there be any dispute 'bout that bein' fair, wi' you on our side, we'll eezy settle it our way, 'spite o' them Spanyards. If they refuse to agree, an' it coomes to fightin', then Jack Striker's good for any two on 'em."

"An' Harry Blew for any other two. No fear but we can fix that. How many do you think will be with us?"

"Most all, I shud say, 'ceptin' the Spanyards themselves. It consarns the rest same's it do us. At all events, we're bound to ha' the majority."

"When do you propose we should begin broachin' it to them?"

"Straight away, if you say the word. I'll try some o' 'em soon as I've goed off from heer. Thar be several on the watch as 'll be takin' a drop o' grog thegether, 'fore we turns in. No better time nor now."

"True. So set at 'em at once, Striker. But mind ye, mate, be cautious how ye talk to them, an' don't commit ayther of us too far, till you've larnt their temper. I'll meet ye in the first dog-watch the morrow.

Then you can tell me how the land's likely to lie."

"All right. I'll see to it in the smooth way. Ye can trust Jack Striker for that."

"Take another suck o' the Santa Cruz. If this trip proves prosp'rous in the way we're plannin' it, neyther you nor me 'll need to go without the best o' good liquor for the rest o' our lives."

Again Striker clutches at the proffered bottle, and holds it to his head--this time till he has drained it dry.

Returned to him empty, Harry Blew tosses it overboard. Then parting from the steersman, he commences moving forward, as with the design to look after other duties.

As he steps out from under the shadow of the spanker, the moon gleaming athwart his face, shows on it an expression which neither pencil nor pen could depict. Difficult indeed to interpret it. The most skilled physiognomist would be puzzled to say, whether it is the reproach of conscious guilt, or innocence driven to desperation.

CHAPTER FIFTY TWO.

SHARE AND SHARE ALIKE.

In the _Condor's_ forecastle.

It is her third night since leaving San Francisco, and the second watch is on deck; the men on the first having gone down below. That on duty is Padilla's; in it Gomez, Hernandez, Velarde, and the two sailors of nationality unknown.

The off-watch consists of Striker, Davis, the Frenchman, who is called La Crosse, with the Dutchman and Dane.

All these five are in the forepeak, the chief mate, as they suppose, having retired to rest.

They have been below for some time, and it is now near eleven o'clock of the night. All have finished their suppers, and are seated, some on the sides of their bunks, some on sea-chests. A large one of the latter, cleated in the centre of the floor, does service as a table. Upon it is a black bottle containing rum--the sailor's orthodox drink. In his hand, each holds his pannikin, while in every mouth there is a pipe, and the forecastle is full of smoke. A pack of playing-cards lies on the lid of the chest; greasy and begrimed, as if they had seen long service; though not any on this particular night, are in the hands of those sitting around, who show no inclination to touch them. They may have been used by the men of the watch now on deck; this, probably enough, since the cards are Spanish, as told by their picturing.

Those occupying the forecastle now have something on their minds more important than card-playing: a question of money; but not money to be made in that way. What they are thinking about, and talking of, is the gold-dust in the cabin-lockers; not how it is to be got out of them, but how it shall be distributed after it is out.