The Flag of Distress Part 63

If so, we may never reach Panama, much less live to--"

"See," cries Cadwallader, interrupting the despairing speech. "Those brutes! what's that they're knocking about? By Jove! I believe it's the very thing we're speaking of!"

The brutes are the Myas monkeys, that, away in the ship's waist, are tossing something between them; apparently a large book bound in rough red leather. They have mutilated the binding, and, with teeth and claws, are tearing out the leaves, as they strive to take it from one another.

"It is--it must be the log-book!" cries Crozier, as both rush off to rescue it from the clutch of the orangs.

They succeed; but not without difficulty, and a free handling of handspikes--almost braining the apes before they consent to relinquish it.

It is at length recovered, though in a ruinous condition; fortunately, however, with the written leaves untorn. Upon the last of these is an entry, evidently the latest made:

"Lat.i.tude 7 degrees 20 minutes North; Longitude 82 degrees 12 minutes West. Light breeze."

"Good!" exclaims Crozier, rushing back to the quarterdeck, and bending over the chart. "With this, and the double-headed hill, we may get upon the track of the despoilers. Just when we were despairing! Will, old boy; there's something in this. I have a presentiment that things are taking a turn, and the _Fates will yet be or us_."

"G.o.d grant they may!"

"Ah?" sighs Crozier: "if we had but ten men aboard this barque--or even six--I'd never think of going on to Panama, but steer straight for the island of Coiba."

"Why the island of Coiba?" wonderingly asks Cadwallader.

"Because it must have been in sight when this entry was made--either it or Hicaron, which lies on its sou'west side. Look at this chart; there they are!"

The midshipman bends over the map, and scans it.

"You're right, Ned. They must have seen one or other of those islands, when the Chilian skipper made his last observation."

"Just so. And with a light breeze she couldn't have made much way after. Both the cook and Don Gregorio say it was that. Oh! for ten good hands. A thousand pounds apiece for ten stout, trusty fellows!

What a pity in that squall the cutter's crew weren't left along with us."

"Never fear, Ned. We'll get them again, or as good. Old Bracebridge won't fail us, I'm sure. He's a dear old soul, and when he hears the tale we've to tell, it'll be all right. If he can't himself come with the frigate, he'll allow us men to man this barque; enough to make short work with her late crew, if we can once stand face to face with them. I only wish we were in Panama."

"I'd rather we were off Coiba; or on sh.o.r.e wherever the ruffians have landed."

"Not as we now are--three against twelve!"

"I don't care for that. I'd give ten thousand pounds to be in their midst--even alone."

"Ned, you'll never be there alone; wherever you go, I go with you. We have a common cause, and shall stand or fall together."

"That we shall. G.o.d bless you, Will Cadwallader! I feel you're worthy of the friendship--the trust I've placed in you. And now, let's talk no more about it; but bend on all the sail we can, and get to Panama.

After that, we'll steer for the island of Coiba. We're so far fortunate, in having this westerly wind," he continues, in a more cheerful tone. "If it keep in the same quarter, we'll soon come in sight of land. And if this Chilian chart may be depended on, that should be a promontory on the west side of Panama Bay. I hope the chart's a true one; for Punta Malo, an its name imports, isn't a nice place to make mistakes about. By running too close to it with the wind in this quarter--"

"_Steamer to norrard_!" cries a rough voice, interrupting. It is Grummet's.

The young officers, turning with a start, see the same.

Crozier, laying hold of a telescope, raises it to his eye, while he holds it there, saying:

"You're right, c.o.x: it is a steamer. And standing this way! She'll run right across our bows. Up helm, and set the barque's head on for her!"

The c.o.xswain obeys; and with a few turns of the wheel brings the _Condor's_ head round, till she is right to meet the steamer. The officers, with the negro a.s.sisting, loose tacks and sheets, tr.i.m.m.i.n.g her sails for the changed course.

Soon the two vessels, going in almost opposite directions, lessen the distance between. And as they mutually make approach, each speculates on the character of the other. They on board the barque have little difficulty in determining that of the steamer. At a glance they see she is not a warship; but a pa.s.senger packet. And as there are no others in that part of the Pacific, she can be only one of the "liners" late established between San Francisco and Panama; coming down from the former port, her destination the latter.

Not so easy for those aboard the steamship to make out the manner of the odd-looking craft that has turned up in their track, and is sailing straight towards them. They see a barque, polacca-masted, with some sails set, and others hanging in shreds from her yards.

This of itself would be enough to excite curiosity. But there is something besides; a flag reversed flying at her mainmast-head--the flag of Chili! For the distress signal has not been taken down. And why it was ever run up, or by whom, none of those now in the barque could tell.

At present it serves _their_ purpose well, for, responding to it, the commander of the steam packet orders her engines to slow, and then cease action; till the huge leviathan, late running at the rate of twelve knots an hour, gradually lessens speed, and at length lies motionless upon the water.

Simultaneously the barque is "hove to," and she lies at less than a cable's length from the steamer.

From the latter the hail is heard first:

"Barque ahoy! What barque is that?"

"The _Condor_--Valparaiso. In distress."

"Send a boat aboard!"

"Not strength to man it."

"Wait, then! We'll board you."

In less than five minutes' time one of the quarter boats of the liner is lowered down, and a crew leaps into it.

Pushing off from her side, it soon touches that of the vessel in distress.

But not for its crew to board her. Crozier has already traced out his course of action. Slipping down into the steamer's boat, he makes request to be rowed to the ship; which is done without questioning. The uniform he wears ent.i.tles him to respect.

Stepping aboard the steamship, he sees that she is what he has taken her for: a line-packet from San Francisco, bound for Panama. She is crowded with pa.s.sengers; at least a thousand seen upon her decks. They are of all qualities and kinds; all colours and nationalities; most of them Californian gold-diggers returning to their homes; some successful and cheerful; others downcast and disappointed.

He is not long in telling his tale; first to the commander of the steamer and his officers; then to the pa.s.sengers.

For to these last he particularly addresses himself, in an appeal--a call for volunteers--not alone to a.s.sist in navigating the barque, but to proceed with him in pursuit of the scoundrels who cast her away.

He makes known his position, with his power to compensate them for the service sought; both endorsed by the commander of the steamship, who by good luck is acquainted with, and can answer for, his credentials.

Nothing of this is needed; nor yet the promise of a money reward. Among these stalwart men are many who are heroes--true Paladins, despite their somewhat threadbare habiliments. And amidst their soiled rags shine pistols and knives, ready to be drawn for the right.

After hearing the young officer's tale, without listening farther, twenty of them spring forward responsive to his call. Not for the reward offered, but in the cause of humanity and right. He would enlist twice or thrice the number, but deeming twenty enough, with these he returns to the _Condor_.

Then the two vessels part company, the steamer continuing on for Panama; while the barque, now better manned, and with more sail set, is steered for the point where the line of Lat.i.tude 7 degrees 20 minutes North intersects that of Longitude 82 degrees 12 minutes West.

CHAPTER SEVENTY FOUR.

A LOTTERY OF LIFE AND DEATH.