The Flag of Distress Part 18

They are advancing along the sh.o.r.e-road, afoot; having declined their host's offer of horses--both saying they would prefer to walk; Cadwallader adding, in his favourite sailor phrase, that he wished to "kick the knots out of his legs"--a remark but obscurely comprehensible to Don Gregorio.

For some time after leaving the Spaniard's house, not a word pa.s.ses between them. Each is occupied with his own thoughts, the sacredness of which keeps him silent; absorbed in reflections, about that tender, but painful parting, speculating on what may be before them in the far uncertain future.

For a time, nought intrudes upon their reverie, to disturb its natural course. The sough of the tidal surf breaking upon the beach, the occasional cry of a soaring sea-bird, or the more continuous and melancholy note of the chuck-will's-widow, do not attract their attention. They are sounds in consonance with their thoughts, still a little sad.

As they draw nearer to the city, see its flas.h.i.+ng lights, and hear its hum of voices, other and less doleful ideas come uppermost, leading to conversation. Crozier commences it:

"Well, Will, old fellow, we've made a day of it!"

"That we have--a rousing, jolly day. I don't think I ever enjoyed one more in my life."

"Only for its drawbacks."

"You mean our affair with those fellows? Why, that was the best part of it--so far as fun. To see the one in the sky-blue wrap, after I'd dirked his horse, go off like a s.h.i.+p in a gale, with n.o.body at the helm!

By Jove! it was equal to old Billy b.u.t.ton in the circus. And then the other, you bundled over in the road, as he got up looking like a dog just out of a dust-bin! Oh! 'twas delicious! The best sh.o.r.e adventure I've had since leaving home--something to talk about when we get aboard the s.h.i.+p."

"Ay, and something to do besides talking. We've got a little writing to do; at least I have--a bit of a letter to this swaggerer, Mr Francisco de Lara."

"But, surely, you don't intend challenging him--after what's happened?"

"Surely I do. Though, to say the truth, I've no great stomach for it, seeing the sort he is. It's _infra dig_ having to fight one's inferior, though it be with sword or pistol. It feels like getting into a row with roughs in some slum of a seaport."

"You're right there; and as to calling the fellow out, I'd do nothing of the kind, Ned. He's a bad lot; so is the other. Blackguards both, as their behaviour has shown them. They don't deserve to be treated as gentlemen."

"But we're in California, Will; where the code of the duello takes in such as they. Here even thieves and cut-throats talk about protecting their honour, as they term it; ay, and often act up to their talk. I've been told of a duel that took place not long since between two professional gamblers, in which one of them was shot dead in his tracks.

And only the other day a judge was called out by a man he had tried, and convicted, of some misdemeanour! Well, the judge not only went, but actually killed the cad who'd stood before him as a criminal! All that seems very absurd, but so it is. And if this scarlet-cloaked cavalier don't show the white-feather, and back out, I'll either have to kill, or cripple him; though like as not he may do one or the other for me."

"But don't you think, Ned, you've had enough out of him?"

"In what way?"

"Why, in the way of _revanche_. For my part, I should decidedly say you had by far the best of it. After your first encounter in the morning, I thought differently; and would have so counselled you. Then the insult offered you remained unpunished. The other has put a different face on the affair; and now that he's got more than he gave, I think you should rest satisfied, and let things stand as they are--if he do. Certainly, after that knock and tumble, it's his place to sing out."

"There's something in what you say, Will. And now, on reflection, I'm not so sure that I'll take further trouble about the fellow, unless he insist on it; which he may not, seeing he's unquestionably base coin--as you say, a blackguard. He appears a sort of Californian bravo; and if we hadn't secured his pistol, I suppose he'd have done some shooting with it. Well, we'll see whether he comes to reclaim it. If he don't, I shall have to send it to him. Otherwise, he may have us up before one of these duelling justices on a charge of robbing him!"

"Ha, ha, ha! That would be a rare joke; an appropriate ending to our day's fun."

"Quite the contrary. It might be serious, if it should reach the ears of Bracebridge. The old disciplinarian would never believe but that we'd been in the wrong--taken the fellow's pistol from him for a lark, or something of that sort. True, we could have the thing explained, both to the San Francisco magistrate, and the frigate's captain; but not without an exposure of names and circ.u.mstances. That, though it might be proper enough, would be anything but a pleasant finale to our day's fun, as you call it."

"Well, I know what will," rejoins Cadwallader, after listening patiently to his comrade's explanatory speech, "and that's a gla.s.s of something good to drink. Those sweet Spanish wines of Don Gregorio have made me thirsty as a fish. Besides, parting with dear Inez has got my heart down, and I need something to stir it up again."

"All right, my hearty!" exclaims Crozier; for the jest's sake, talking sailor-slang--"I'm with you in that way. For this day at least we've had enough of war, and, shall I say, women?"

"No--no!" protests Cadwallader; "that would be an ungallant speech, after what's pa.s.sed. We could never have enough of them--at least, not I."

"Why, Will, we've grown wonderfully sentimental, and in such a short time! Well, let's drop the subject of woman, and end our day with the third of three w's--wine."

"Agreed!" responds the young Welshman. "But, for my part, I'd prefer ending it with a different tipple, which has also a w for its initial letter--that's whisky. If we could only get a gla.s.s of good Scotch or Irish malt in this mushroom city, it would make a new man of me--which just now I need making. As I tell you, Ned, my heart's down--dead down to the heels of my boots. I can't say why, but there it is; and there I suppose, it'll stay, unless Dutch courage come to the rescue."

"Well, you'll soon have an opportunity of getting that. As you see, we are in the suburbs of this grand city, partly constructed of canvas; where, though food may be scarce, and raiment scanty, there's liquor in abundance. In the _Parker House_, which is, I believe, its best hotel, we'll be sure of finding almost every beverage brewed upon the earth-- among them your favourite whisky, and mine--'Ba.s.s's Bitter.'"

"Again the Spanish saw, '_Cada uno a su gusto_,' as just now my sweetheart said, after I had kissed the dear girl six times in succession. But let us step out."

"Don't be in such hot haste. You forget we've something to do; which must be done first--before everything else."

"What?"

"Look up Harry Blew; find him, if we can; and coax him to take service in this Chilian s.h.i.+p."

"He won't require much coaxing, once you say the word. The old salt is anything but ungrateful. Indeed, his regard for you, ever since you saved him from that shark, is more like real grat.i.tude than anything I ever saw. He fairly wors.h.i.+ps you, Ned. He told me the day before he left the _Crusader_, that parting with you was the only thing which greatly grieved him. I saw the tears trickling down his cheeks, as you shook hands with him over the rail. Even then, if you'd said stay, I believe he'd have turned back into his old berth."

"I didn't, because I wished him to do better. You know he'd have a splendid chance here in California--to get rich by gold-digging, which no doubt he might, like a great many other humble sailors as himself.

But now, this other chance has turned up in his favour, which I should say is surer. Don Gregorio has told us he can get from the Chilian captain almost any pay he may please to ask; besides, a fair likelihood of being made his first mate. That would suit Harry to a hair; in my opinion, answering his purpose far better than any gold-was.h.i.+ng speculation. Though a man of first rating aboard s.h.i.+p, he's a mere child when ash.o.r.e; and would be no more able to protect himself against the land-sharks of San Francisco, than he was to get out of the way of that sea-skimmer at Guaymas. Even if he should succeed in growing rich up the Sacramento River, I'd lay large odds, he'd be back here in port, and poor as ever, within a week. We must save him from that if we can.

His natural element is the ocean. He has spent the greater part of his life on it, and here's a fine opportunity for him to return to, and stay upon it. That for life, if he likes, with better prospects than he could ever have had on board a man-o'-war. The question is, how we shall be able to find him in this rookery of a place. Did he say anything, when you saw him, about where he was sojourning!"

"By Jove! he just did. Now, I recall our conversation, I remember him telling me that he was staying at a sort of a boarding-house, or restaurant, called the 'Sailor's Home,' though he made no mention of the street. But, if I mistake not, I know the place, and can steer pretty straight for it."

"Straight or crooked, let's set head for it at once. We've plenty of time, if that were all. I told the c.o.xswain not to come for us till well after eleven. I want to see something of this queer Californian life, of which I haven't had much experience yet."

"The same with myself."

"Well, we may never again get such a chance. Indeed, it's not likely we'll be allowed another night ash.o.r.e, before the _Crusader_ sails.

Therefore, let us make hay while the sun s.h.i.+nes, or, to speak less figuratively, a little merriment by the light of the moon. We've been either savage, or sentimental, all the day, and need changing our tune."

"You're right about that; but the music is not likely to be made by moonlight--not much of it. See those great clouds rolling up yonder!

They'll be all over the sky in ten minutes' time, making it black as a pot of pitch."

"No matter; for what we want, gas-light will serve as well; and there's plenty of that in San Francisco. Now for Harry Blew. After him, whisky punches at the _Parker_."

"And after that?"

"A _h.e.l.l_, if you feel that way inclined."

"Surely, Ned, you don't want to go gambling!"

"I want to see life in San Francisco, as I've said; and, as you know, gambling's an important part of it. Yes; I wish to inspect the elephant, and I don't mind making an attempt to draw the teeth of the tiger. _Allons_! or, as I should say, in the softer language of Andalusia, _Nos vamos_!"

Thus jocosely terminating the conversation, the young officers continue on at increased speed, and are soon threading the streets of San Francisco in search of the "Sailor's Home."

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

A TAR OF THE OLDEN TYPE.

Harry Blew is a tar of the true man-o'-war type; this of the time when sailors were sailors, and s.h.i.+ps were oak, not iron. Such s.h.i.+ps are scarce now; but scarcer still the skilled men who handled their ropes, and kept everything taut and trim--in short, the true tars.

Than Harry, a finer specimen of the foremast-man never reefed topsail, or took his gla.s.s of grog according to allowance. Of dark complexion naturally, exposure to sun, sea, and storm has deepened it, till his cheeks and throat are almost copper-coloured; somewhat lighter in tint upon Sundays, after they have had their hebdomadal shave. His face is round, with features fairly regular, and of cheerful cast, their cheerfulness heightened by the sparkle of keen grey eyes, and two rows of sound white teeth, frequently, if not continuously shown in smile. A thick shock of curling brown hair, with a well-greased ringlet drooping down over each eyebrow, supports a round-rimmed, blue-ribboned hat, well aback on his head. His shaven chin is pointed and prominent, with a dimple below the lip; while the beardless jaws curve smoothly down to a well-shaped neck, symmetrically set upon broad shoulders, that give token of strength almost herculean. Notwithstanding an amplitude of s.h.i.+rt-collar, which falls back full seven inches, touching the shoulder-tips, the throat and a portion of the expansive chest are habitually exposed to view; while on the sun-browned skin of the latter may be seen a tattooed anchor. By its side, but not so openly exhibited, is the figure of a damsel done in dark blue--no doubt a souvenir, if not the exact similitude, of a sweetheart--some Poll of past time, or perhaps far-off port.