The Flag of Distress Part 60

Hopefully, Don Gregorio continues gazing, but not without anxiety. Once before he has had disappointment from a similar sight. It may be so again.

But, no; that ship was standing across the _Condor's_ track, while this is sailing in the same course--sailing after, apparently, with the intention to come up; and though slowly, surely drawing nearer; as he can tell by her canvas increasing in the bulk, growing broader and rising higher upon the horizon.

A long time elapses--nearly half-a-day--during which he has many hopes and fears, alternating as the hours pa.s.s.

But the hopes are at length in the ascendant, and all anxiety pa.s.ses as the pursuing ship shows her dark hull above the water-line, and he can distinguish her separate sails. They are all set. What joy in his heart as his eyes rest on them! They seem the wings of merciful angels, coming to relieve him from his misery!

And the flag floating above--the flag of England! Were it the banner of his own Spain, he could not regard it with greater gladness, or grat.i.tude. For surely he will be saved now?

Alas! while thus congratulating himself, he sees what causes his heart again to go down within him, bringing back keenest apprehensions. The strange vessel is still a far distance off, and the breeze impelling her, light all along, has suddenly died down--not a ripple showing on the sea's surface--while her sails now hang loose and limp. Beyond doubt is she becalmed.

But the _Condor_! Will she, too, cease sailing?

Yes; she must, from the same cause. Already she moves slowly, scarce making way. And now--now she is motionless! He can tell it, by the gla.s.s rack and lamps overhead, that hang without the slightest oscillation. Anon, the barque gradually swings round, and he loses sight of the ship. Through the windows he still beholds the sea, calm and blue, but vacant; no outline of hull--no expanded sail--no flouting flag to keep up his heart, which is once more almost despondent.

But only for a short time; again rising as the barque, sheering round, brings once more her stern towards the ship, and he sees the latter, and something besides--a boat!

It is down in the water, and coming on toward the _Condor_, the oar-blades flashing in the sun and flinging spray-drops that seem like silver stars!

The barque swinging round, he has the boat in view but a short while.

What matters it now? He is certain of being saved!

And he looks no longer--only listens.

Soon to hear words spoken in a strong manly voice, to him sweeter than music. It is the hail:

"Barque ahoy!"

In feeble accents he makes answer, and continues to call out, till other voices, echoing along the _Condor's_ decks, become commingled with his own.

Then there are footsteps on the quarterdeck, soon after heard descending the cabin-stair.

The handle is turned, the door pushed open, and a swish of fresh air sweeps in, men along with it; as they enter, giving utterance to wild exclamations.

Wrenching his neck around, he sees there are two of them, both in the uniform of naval officers, and both known to him!

Their presence causes him strange emotions, and many--too many for his strength so long and sorely tried.

Overpowered by the sight, he becomes unconscious, as though instead of gladdening, it had suddenly deprived him of life!

CHAPTER SEVENTY.

CONJECTURES TOO TRUE.

No need to say that the two officers who have entered the _Condor's_ cabin are Crozier and Cadwallader. For she is the polacca-barque chased by a frigate, and that frigate the _Crusader_.

The cry simultaneously raised by them is one of strange intonation, telling less of surprise, than conjecture too fatally confirmed.

While in chase of the barque, and her national colours were first made out, they had no thought of connecting her with the vessel which Don Gregorio Montijo had chartered to take him to Panama. True, they had heard that this was a Chilian vessel, and her skipper of that nation.

But they had also been told she was a _ship_, not a _barque_. And as among the many craft in San Francis...o...b..y, neither had noticed her, how would they think of identifying her with the chased polacca.

Gradually, however, as the frigate drew upon her, certain suspicions of a painful nature began to shape themselves in Crozier's mind; still so vague he did not deem it worth while communicating them to Cadwallader.

He remembered having seen a _polacca-masted_ vessel in the harbour of San Francisco; besides, that she was a _ship_. And so far as his recollection served, she was of the same size as that running before the frigate. Besides, he could distinctly recall the fact of her flying Chilian colours. The peculiar style of her masting had drawn his attention to her.

And while they were still pursuing the barque, and commenting on the coincident statement of the brig and whaler about men having been aboard of her _covered with red hair_, Crozier also recalled a statement strangely significant, which Harry Blew had made to one of the men who had rowed Cadwallader ash.o.r.e, on the day the _Crusader_ sailed. Blew had been aboard the Chilian vessel, and being asked by his old shipmate what sort of crew she had, laughingly replied: "Only a _black_ man, and two _red_ ones." Pressed for an explanation about the red ones, he said they were a couple of _orang-outangs_.

Putting these odd _data_ together, and comparing them, the _Crusader's_ third lieutenant began to have an uneasy feeling, as they followed the retreating vessel. That she was a barque, and not a ship, meant nothing. As a seaman, he knew how easy the conversion--how often made.

When at length both vessels lay becalmed, and an order for boarding was given, he had solicited the command--by a private word to the frigate's captain, as had Cadwallader the leave to accompany him; the latter actuated by impulses not very dissimilar.

When both at length climbed the barque's sides, saw the red monkeys on deck, and the black man in the galley, their apprehension became sharpened to the keenest foreboding--far more than a presentiment of misfortune.

Alas! as they entered the _Condor's_ cabin, beholding its fulfilment.

The cry that escaped their lips came on the recognition of Don Gregorio Montijo; followed by other exclamations, as they looked at the two unoccupied chairs, a fan upon the one, a scarf over the back of the other. It was then that Crozier rushing upon deck, sent the cutter off for the surgeon, himself instantly returning to the cabin.

Still wilder--almost a wail--is the shout simultaneously raised by the young officers, when, after dashing open the state-room doors, they look in and see all empty!

They turn to those at the table, asking information--entreating it: one answers with a strange Bedlamite laugh; the other not at all. It is Don Gregorio who is silent. They see that his head is hanging over. He appears insensible.

"Great G.o.d! is he dead?"

They glide towards him, grasp table-knives, and cut the cords that have been confining him. Senseless, he sinks into their arms.

But he is not dead; only in a faint. Though feebly, his pulse still beats!

With wine they wet his lips--the wine so long standing untasted! They open his mouth, and pour some of it down his throat, then stand over him to await the effect.

Soon his pulse grows stronger, and his eyes sparkle with the light of reviving life.

Laid gently along the sofa, he is at length restored to consciousness; with sufficient strength to answer the questions eagerly put to him.

There are two, simultaneously asked, almost echoes of one another.

"Where is Carmen? Where is Inez?"

"Gone!" he gasps out. "Carried away by the--"

He does not finish the speech. His breath fails him, and he seems relapsing into the syncope from which he has been aroused. Fearing this, they question him no farther, but continue to administer restoratives. They give him more wine, making him also eat of the fruits found upon the table.

They have also set the skipper free; but soon see cause to regret it.

He strides to and fro, flings his arms about in frenzied gesture, clutches at decanters, gla.s.ses, bottles, and breaks them against one another, or dashes them down upon the floor. He needs restraining, and they do that, by shutting him up in a state-room.

Returning to Don Gregorio, they continue to nurse him; all the while wishing the surgeon to come.

While impatiently waiting they hear a hail from the top of the cabin-stairs. It is their c.o.xswain, who shouts:--