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The Flag of Distress: A Story of the South Sea
Chapter Seventeen.
A Charter-Party
Soon, as assured – by a glance at the card given him – that his visitor is the gentleman who has written to appoint an interview, Captain Lantanas politely salutes; and jipi-japa in hand, stands waiting to hear what the haciendado may have to say.
The latter, panting after the effort made in ascending the man-ropes, takes a moment’s time to recover breath. Then, returning the skipper’s bow, he says, interrogatively: —
“Captain Lantanas, I presume?”
“Si, señor,” responds the master of the Condor, with a bow of becoming humility to one reputed so rich. Then adding: “A dispocion de V.”
“Well, captain,” rejoins Don Gregorio, “I shall take it for granted that you know who I am. Don Tomas Silvestre has informed you, has he not?”
“He has, señor.”
“And you received my letter?”
“Si, señor.”
“That’s all right, then. And now to proceed to the business that has brought me aboard your ship. Having seen your advertisement in the Diario, I communicated with Don Tomas; but only so far as to get your correct address, with some trifling particulars. For the rest, I’ve thought it best to deal directly with yourself; as the matter I have in hand is too important to be entrusted to an agent. In short, it requires confidence, if not secrecy, and from what I’ve heard of you, Señor Lantanas, I feel sure I can confide in you.”
“You compliment me, Señor Montijo.”
“No, no; nothing of the kind. I but speak from the account Silvestre has given me of your character. But now to business. Your ship is advertised for freight, or passage?”
“Either, or both.”
“Bound for Valparaiso and intermediate ports?”
“Anywhere down the coast.”
“Have you passengers already engaged?”
“Not any as yet.”
“How many can you take?”
“Well, señor, to speak truth, my craft is not intended to carry passengers. She’s a trading-vessel, as you see. But if you’ll step down to the cabin, you can judge for yourself. There’s a saloon – not very large, it is true – and sleeping accommodation for six – two snug staterooms that will serve, if need be, for ladies.”
“That’ll do. Now about the freight. Don Tomas tells me you have some cargo aboard.”
“A portion of my ship is already occupied.”
“That won’t signify to me. I suppose there’s enough room left for something that weighs less than a ton, and isn’t of any great bulk. Say it will take a score or two of cubic feet. You can find stowage for that?”
“Oh, yes, that and much more.”
“So far good. And you can accommodate three passengers: a gentleman and two ladies? In short, myself and the female members of my family – my daughter and grand-daughter?”
“Will the Señor Montijo step into the Condor’s cabin, and see for himself?”
“By all means.”
Captain Lantanas leads down the stairway, his visitor following.
The saloon is inspected; after it the sleeping-rooms, right and left.
“Just the thing,” says Don Gregorio, speaking as in soliloquy, and evidently satisfied. “It will do admirably,” he adds, addressing himself to the skipper. “And now about terms. What are they to be?”
“That, señor, will depend on what is wanted. To what port do you wish me to take you?”
“Panama. ’Tis one of the ports mentioned in your advertisement?”
“It is, señor.”
“Well, for this freight – as I’ve told you, about a ton, with some trifling household effects – and the three passengers, how much?”
“The terms of freight, as you may be aware, are usually rated according to the class of goods. Is it gold, señor? From your description. I suppose it is.”
The skipper has guessed aright. It is gold, nearly a ton of it, accruing to Don Gregorio from the sale of his land, for which he has been paid in dust and nuggets, at that time the only coin in California – indeed, the only circulating medium, since notes were not to be had.
“Suppose it to be gold,” he answers guardedly, “how much then?”
The ex-ganadero is by no means a niggardly man; still, he would like to have his treasure transported at a rate not exorbitant. And yet he is anxious about its safety; and for this reason has resolved to ship it with secrecy in a private trading-vessel, instead of by one of the regular liners, that have already commenced plying between San Francisco and Panama. He has heard that these are crowded with miners returning home; rough fellows, many of them queer characters – some little better than bandits. He dislikes the idea of trusting his gold among them, and equally his girls, since no other ladies are likely to be going that way. He has full faith in the integrity of Captain Lantanas; knows the Chilian to be a man of gentle heart – in fact, a gentleman. Don Tomas has told him all this.
Under the circumstances, and with such a man, it will not do to drive too hard a bargain; and Don Gregorio, thus reflecting, at length confesses his freight to be gold bullion, and asks the skipper to name his terms.
Lantanas, after a moment spent in mental calculation, says:
“One thousand dollars for the freight, and a hundred each for the three passages. Will that satisfy you, señor?”
“It seems a large sum,” rejoins Don Gregorio. “But I am aware prices are high just now; so I agree to it. When will you be ready to sail?”
“I am ready now, señor – that is, if – ”
“If what?”
Lantanas, remembering his crewless ship, does not make immediate answer.
“If,” says the Spaniard, noticing his hesitation, and mistaking the reason – “if you’re calculating on any delay from me, you needn’t. I can have everything on board in three or four days – a week at the utmost.”
The skipper is still silent, thinking of excuses. He dislikes losing the chance of such a profitable cargo, and yet knows he cannot name any certain time of sailing, for the want of hands to work his vessel.
There seems no help for it but to confess his shortcomings. Perhaps Don Gregorio will wait till the Condor can get a crew. The more likely, since every other vessel in port is in a similar predicament.
“Señor,” he says at length, “my ship is at your service; and I should be pleased and proud to have you and your ladies as my passengers. But there’s a little difficulty to be got over before I can weigh anchor.”
“Clearance duties – port dues to be paid. You want the passage-money advanced, I presume? Well, I shall not object to prepaying it in part. How much will you require?”
“Mil gracias, Señor Montijo. It’s not anything of the kind. Although far from rich, thank Heaven, neither I nor my craft is under embargo. I could sail out of San Francisco in half-an-hour, but for the want of – ”
“Want of what?” asks Don Gregorio in some surprise.
“Well, señor – sailors.”
“What! Have you no sailors?”
“I am sorry to say, not one.”
“Well, Captain Lantanas, I thought it strange observing nobody aboard your ship – except that black fellow. But I supposed your sailors had gone ashore.”
“So have they, señor; and intend staying there. Alas! that’s the trouble. They’ve gone off to the gold-diggings – every one of them, except my negro cook. Likely enough, I should have lost him too, but he knows that California is now part of the United States, and fears that some speculating Yankee might make a slave of him, or that perchance he might meet his old master: for he has had one.”
“How vexatious all this!” says Don Gregorio. “I suppose I shall have to look out for another ship.”
“I fear you’ll not find one much better provided than mine – as regards sailors. In that respect, to use a professional phrase, we’re all in the same boat.”
“You assure me of that!”
“I do, señor.”
“I can trust you, Captain Lantanas. As I have told you, I’m not here without knowing something of yourself. You have a friend in Don Tomas Silvestre?”
“I believe I have the honour of Don Tomas’s friendship.”
“Well, he has recommended you in such terms that I can thoroughly rely upon you. For that reason, I shall now make more fully known to you why I wish to travel by your ship.”
The Chilian skipper bows thanks for the compliment, and silently awaits the proffered confidence.
“I’ve just sold my property here, receiving for it three hundred thousand dollars in gold-dust – the same I intended for your freight. It is now lying at my house, some three miles from town. As you must be aware, captain, this place is at present the rendezvous of scoundrels collected from every country on the face of the habitable globe, but chiefly from the United States and Australia. They live, and act, almost without regard to law; such judges as they have being almost as great criminals as those brought before them. I feel impatient to get away from the place; which under the circumstances, you won’t wonder at. And I am naturally anxious about my gold. At any hour a band of these lawless ruffians may take it into their heads to strip me of it – or, at all events, attempt to do so. Therefore, I wish to get it on board a ship – one where it will be safe, and in whose captain I can thoroughly confide. Now, you understand me?”
“I do,” is the simple response of the Chilian. He is about to add that Don Gregorio’s property, as his secret, will be safe enough, so far as he can protect it, when the latter interrupts him by continuing:
“I may add that it is my intention to return to Spain, of which I am a native – to Cadiz, where I have a house. That I intended doing anyhow. But now, I want to take departure at once. As a Spaniard, señor, I needn’t point out to you, who are of the same race, that the society of California cannot be congenial – now that the rowdies of the United States have become its rulers. I am most anxious to get away from the place, and soon as possible. It is exceedingly awkward your not having a crew. Can’t something be done to procure one?”
“The only thing is to offer extra pay. There are plenty of sailors in San Francisco; for they’ve not all gone to gather gold. Some are engaged in scattering it. Unfortunately, most are worthless, drunken fellows. Still it is possible that a few good men might be found, were the wages made sufficiently tempting. No doubt, an advertisement in the Diario, offering double pay, might attract as many as would be needed for working my ship.”
“How much would it all amount to?”
“Possibly an extra thousand dollars.”
“Suppose I pay that, will you engage the whole ship to me? That is, take no other passengers, or wait for any more freight, but sail at once – soon as you’ve secured a crew? Do you agree to these terms?”
“Si, señor; they are perfectly satisfactory.”
“I’ll be answerable for the extra wages. Anything to get away from this Pandemonium of a place.”
“In that case, señor, I think we’ll have no great difficulty in procuring hands. You authorise me to advertise for them?”
“I do,” answers Don Gregorio.
“Enough!” rejoins the skipper. “And now, Señor Montijo, you may make your preparations for embarking.”
“I’ve not many to make; nearly all has been done already. It’s only to get our personal baggage aboard, with the freight safely stowed. By the way,” adds the Biscayan, speaking sotto-voce, “I wish to ship the gold as soon as possible, and without attracting attention to it. You understand me, captain?”
“I do.”
“I shall have it brought aboard at night, in a boat which belongs to Silvestre. It will be safer in your cabin than anywhere else – since no one need be the wiser about the place of deposit.”
“No one shall, through me.”
“That I feel certain of, Señor Lantanas. Don Tomas is your endorser; and would be willing to be your bondsman, were it needed – which it is not.”
Again the Condor’s captain bows in acknowledgment of the confidence reposed in him; and after some further exchange of speech, respecting the shipment of the treasure, and the writing out an advertisement, which Don Gregorio is to get inserted in the Diario, the latter returns to his boat, and is rowed back to the shore; while the Chilian lights a fresh cigarette, and with elbows rested on the capstan-head, resumes his customary attitude of insouciance, from which he had been temporarily roused.
Chapter Eighteen.
In Search of a Second
Just about the time Don Gregorio is taking leave of Captain Lantanas, the two unwelcome, as unreceived, visitors are turning their backs upon his house.
De Lara feels his discomfiture the keenest. His heart is harrowed with mingled emotions – passions of varied complexion, all evil. His lips are livid with rage, his brow black with chagrin, while his eyes fairly scintillate with unsatisfied vengeance.
While returning along the avenue he neither looks back, nor up. Not a syllable escapes him; with glance upon the ground, he rides in sullen silence.
After clearing the entrance-gate, and again upon the outside road, he turns face toward the dwelling whose hospitality has been so insultingly denied him. He sees nought there to soothe, but something which still further afflicts him. Four horses are filing out through the front gate, conducted by grooms. They are saddled, bridled, ready for being mounted. To his practised eye, their caparison tells that they are intended only for a short excursion, not a journey. And though their saddles are in shape nearly alike, he knows that two of them are to be mounted by men, the other two to carry ladies.
“The señoritas are going out for a ride – a paseo de campo– accompanied by their English guests,” observes Calderon.
Simultaneously, as instinctively, de Lara arrives at this conclusion. Both now know why they were not received; a knowledge which, instead of tranquillising their chafed spirits, but maddens them the more. The thought of their sweethearts being escorted by these detested rivals, riding along wild unfrequented paths, through trees overshadowing, away from the presence of spying domestics, or the interference of protecting relatives, beyond the eyes and ears of every one – the thought that Carmen Montijo and Iñez Alvarez are setting out on an excursion of this kind, is to Francisco de Lara and Faustino Calderon bitter as deadliest poison.
And reflection embitters it the more. The excursionists will have every opportunity of wandering at will. They will become separated; and there can be no doubt as to how the partition will be made; the older of the two officers will pair off with Doña Carmen, the younger with Doña Iñez. Thus, they will ride unmolested, unobserved; converse without fear of being overheard; clasp hands without danger of being seen – perhaps exchange kisses! Oh, the dire, desperate jealousy! Even the dull brain and cold heart of Calderon are fired by these reflections. They sting him to the quick. But not as De Lara; for not as De Lara does he love.
After gazing for a while at the house – at the horses and grooms – at the preparations that are being made for mounting – noting their magnificent style – with a last glance such as Satan gave when expelled from Paradise, the Creole drives the spur deep into his horse’s ribs, and dashes off down the hill the Californian after.
At its bottom they again come to a halt, being now out of sight of the house. Facing toward his companion, De Lara says:
“We’re in for a fight, Faustino; both of us.”
“Not both. I don’t think I’m called upon to challenge that youngster. He’s but a boy.”
“He’s been man enough to insult you; and, if I mistake not, you’ll find him man enough to meet you.”
“I don’t see that he did insult me.”
“Indeed; you don’t? Sticking your horse, as if it were a pig, and sending him off in a stampede that well nigh dismounted you; all before the face of your lady-love – right under her eyes! You don’t deem that an insult, eh?”
“But you must remember I gave him provocation. At your bidding, I all but rode over him. Looking at it in that light, he’s in a sense excusable for what he did. Besides, he only meant it as a joke. Didn’t you see, when it was all over, how he laughed at it?”
“Not at it, but at you. So did your sweetheart, amigo. As we reined up under the walls, I could see her long lashes drooping down, the eyes looking disdain at you, with her pretty lips pouting in very scorn. You’re evidently out of her good graces, and you’ll have to do something ere you can reinstate yourself.”
“Do you really think so?”
“I am sure of it. Never surer of anything in my life.”
“But what would you have me to do?”
“You ought to know without asking me. Call out the cub, and kill him – if you can. What I design doing with my gentleman.”
“Ah! you’re a dead shot; and that makes all the difference. These Anglo-Saxons always use pistols; and if I challenge him, he’ll have the choice of weapons.”
“Quite true. With me it will be different. I took care to give the affront, and you should have done the same. Seeing you got the worst of it, you ought to have followed up your first dash at him by something besides – a slap across the cheek, or a cut with your whip.”
“I’m sorry now I didn’t give him one or the other.”
“Well, you may find an opportunity yet. For my quarrel, I don’t care a toss whether it be settled with swords or pistols. We Creoles of Louisiana are accustomed to the use of either weapon. Thanks to old Gardalet of the Rue Royale, I’ve got the trick of both; and am equally ready to send a half-ounce of lead, or twelve inches of steel, through the body of this Britisher. By the way, what’s his name?”
The speaker pulls out the card given him by the English officer, and glancing at it, answers his own question: “Edward Crozier, H.M.S. Crusader.”
“Ha! Mr Ned Crozier!” he exclaims, speaking in plain English, the sight of the card seemingly giving a fresh fillip to his spleen; “you’ve had your triumph to-day. ’Twill be mine to-morrow. And, if my fortune don’t fail me, there’ll be an empty seat at the mess-table of the ship Crusader.”
“You really intend fighting him?”
“Now, Don Faustino Calderon, why do you ask that question?”
“Because I think all might be arranged without – ”
“Without what? Speak out, man!”
“Why, without any spilling of blood.”
“You may arrange it that way, if you like. Your quarrel is a distinct one, and I’ve nothing to do with it – having my own hands full. Indeed, if they were empty, I’m not so sure I should be your second – talking as you do. However, that’s not the purpose now. In answer to your first question, I can only say what I’ve said before. I not only intend fighting this Crozier, but killing him. True, I may fail in my intention; if so, there’s an end of it, and of me. For, once on the ground, I don’t leave it a living man, if he do. One or both of us shall stay there, till we’re carried off – feet-foremost.”
“Carramba! your talk gives one the trembles. It’s not pleasant to think of such things, let alone doing them.”
“Think your own way, and welcome. To me it would be less pleasant to leave them undone; less now, than ever in my life. After what I’ve gone through, I don’t care much for character – in truth, not a straw. That’s all stuff and pretension. Money makes the man, and without it he’s nothing; though he were a saint. Respectability – bah! I don’t value it a claco. But there’s a reputation of another kind I do value, and intend to preserve. Because in my world it counts for something – has counted already.”
“What is that?”
“Courage. Losing it, I should lose everything. And in this very city of San Francisco, I’d be only a hound where I’m now a hunter; barked at by every cur, and kicked by every coward who choose to pick a quarrel with me.”
“There’s no danger of that, Don Francisco. All who have had dealings with you know better. There’s little fear of any one putting a slight upon you.”
“There would be, if I refused to fight this fellow. Then you’d see the difference. Why, Faustino Calderon. I couldn’t sit at our monté table, and keep the red-shirts from robbing us, if they didn’t know ’twould be a dangerous game to play. However, it isn’t their respect I value now, but that of one very different.”
“Of whom?”
“Again you ask an idle question; so idle, that I don’t believe you care a straw for Iñez Alvarez – or know what love is.”
“What has she to do with it?”
“She – nothing. That’s true enough. I don’t care aught for her, or what she might think of me. But I do care for Carmen Montijo; above all things I value her good opinion. At least, so far, that she sha’n’t think me either a fool or a coward. She may be fancying me the first; but if so, she’ll find herself mistaken. At all events, she’ll get convinced I’m not the last. And if it be as rumour reports, and as you say you’ve heard, that she’s given her heart to this gringo, I’ll take care she don’t bestow her hand upon him – not while I live. When I’m dead, she can do as she likes.”
“But after what’s passed, will you ever speak to her again?”
“Ay, that will I – in a way that’ll make her listen to me.”
“But, surely, you don’t still intend proposing to her?”
“Perhaps. Though not till I’ve finished this affair with the fellow who interrupted me. Yes; I’ll give her every chance to save herself. She shall say yea, or nay, in straight speech, and in so many words. After that, I’ll understand how to act. But come! we’re wasting time. A duel’s a thing won’t do to dally over. Do you intend to meet your man, or not?”
“I’d rather not,” replies the poltroon, hesitatingly; “that is, if the thing can be arranged. Do you think it can, De Lara?”
“Of course, it can; your thing, as you call it; though not without disgrace to you. You should fight him, Faustino.”
“Well; if you say I should, why, I suppose I must. I never fired a pistol in my life, and am only second-rate with the sword. I can handle a macheté, or a cuchilla, when occasion calls for it; but these weapons won’t be admitted in a duel between gentlemen. I suppose the sailor fellow claims to be one?”
“Undoubtedly he does, and with good reason. An officer belonging to a British man-of-war would call you out for questioning his claim to the epithet. But I think you underrate your skill with the small-sword. I’ve seen you doing very well with that weapon – at Roberto’s fencing-school.”
“Yes; I took lessons there. But fencing is very different from fighting.”
“Never mind. When you get on the duelling-ground, fancy yourself within the walls of Roberto’s shooting-gallery, and that you are about to take a fresh lesson in the art d’escrime. About all, choose the sword for your weapon.”
“How can I, if I am to be the challenger?”
“You needn’t be. There’s a way to get over that. The English officers are not going straight back to their ship; not likely before a late hour of the night. After returning from their ride, I take it they’ll stay to dinner at Don Gregorio’s; and with wine to give them a start, they’ll be pretty sure to have a cruise, as they call it, through the town. There, you may meet your man; and can insult him, by giving him a cuff, spitting in his face – anything to put the onus of challenging upon him.”
“Por Dios! I’ll do as you say.”
“That’s right. Now let us think of what’s before us. As we are both to be principals, we can’t stand seconds to one another. I know who’ll act for me. Have you got a friend you can call upon?”
“Don Manuel Diaz. He’s the only one I can think of.”
“Don Manuel will do. He’s a cool hand, and knows all the regulations of the duello. But he’s not at home to-day. As I chance to know, he’s gone to a funcion de gallos at Punta Pedro; and by this time should be in the cock-pit.”
“Why can’t we go there? Or had we better send?”
“Better send, I think. Time’s precious – at least mine is. As you know, I must be at the monté table soon as the lamps are lit. If I’m not, the bank will go begging, and we may lose our customers. Besides, there’s my own second to look up, which must be done this day before I lay a hand upon the cards. What hour is it? I’ve not brought my timepiece with me.”
“Twelve o’clock, and a quarter past,” answers Calderon, after consulting his watch.
“Only that! Then we’ll have plenty of time to get to Punta Pedro, and witness a main. Don Manuel has a big bet on his pardo. I’d like myself to stake a doubloon or two on that bird. Yes, on reflection, we’d better go to the pelea de gallos. That will be the surest way to secure the services of Diaz. Vamonos!”
At this the two intending duellists again set their steeds in motion; and, riding for a short distance along the shore-road, turn into another, which will take them to Punta Pedro.
With jealous anger still unappeased, they urge their horses into a gallop, riding as if for life, on an errand whose upshot may be death – to one or both of them.
