The Flag of Distress: A Story of the South Sea. Reid Mayne

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СКАЧАТЬ Carmen has added her kind compliments with earnest entreaties for them to come, no doubt?”

      “Sir!” says Carmen, no longer able to conceal her indignation, “your speech is impertinent – insulting. I shall listen to it no longer.”

      Saying which, she steps back, disappearing behind the parapet – where Iñez has already concealed herself, at the close of a similar short, but stormy, dialogue with Calderon.

      De Lara, a lurid look in his eyes, sits in his saddle as if in a stupor. He is roused from it by a voice, Crozier’s, saying:

      “You appear anxious to make apology to the lady? You can make it to me.”

      “Caraji!” exclaims the gambler, starting, and glaring angrily at the speaker. “Who are you?”

      “One who demands an apology for your very indecorous behaviour.”

      “You’ll not get it.”

      “Satisfaction, then.”

      “That to your heart’s content.”

      “I shall have it so. Your card, sir?”

      “There; take it. Yours?”

      The bits of cardboard are exchanged; after which De Lara, casting another glance up to the azotea– where he sees nothing but blank wall – turns his horse’s head; then spitefully plying the spur, gallops back down the avenue – his comrade close following.

      Calderon has not deemed it incumbent upon him to demand a card from Cadwallader. Nor has the latter thought it necessary to take one from him; the mid is quite contented with that playful prod with his dirk.

      The young officers enter the house, in cheerful confidence. They have lost nothing by the encounter, and those inside will still smilingly receive them – as indeed they do.

      Chapter Sixteen.

      A Ship without Sailors

      Among the vessels lying in the harbour of San Francisco is one athwart whose stern is lettered the name El Condor.

      She is a ship of small dimensions – some five or six hundred tons – devoted to peaceful commerce, as can be told by certain peculiarities of rig and structure, understood by the initiated in nautical affairs.

      The name will suggest a South American nationality – Ecuadorian, Peruvian, Bolivian, or Chilian – since the bird after which she has been baptised is found in all these States. Columbia and the Argentine Confederation can also claim it.

      But there is no need to guess at the particular country to which the craft in question belongs. The flag suspended over her taffrail declares it, by a symbolism quite intelligible to those who take an interest in national insignia.

      It is a tricolour – the orthodox red, white, and blue – not, as with the French, disposed vertically, but in two horizontal bands; the lower one crimson red, the upper half-white, half-blue – the last contiguous to the staff, with a single five-pointed star set centrally in its field. This disposition of colours proclaims the ship that carries them to be Chilian.

      She is not the only Chilian craft in the harbour of San Francisco. Several others are there showing the same colours; brigs, barques, schooners, and ships. For the spirited little South American Republic is as prosperous as enterprising, and its flag waves far and wide over the Pacific. With its population of skilled miners, it had been among the first of foreign states in sending a large representative force to “cradle” the gold placers of California, and not only are its ships lying in the bay, but its guasos and gambusinos in goodly number tread the streets of the town; while many of the dark-eyed damsels, who from piazzas and balconies salute the passer-by with seductive smiles, are those charming little Chileñas that make havoc with the heart of almost every Jack-tar who visits Valparaiso.

      On the ship El Condor we meet not much that can be strictly called Chilian; little besides the vessel herself and the captain commanding her. Not commanding her sailors: since there are none upon her hailing from Chili or elsewhere. Those who brought the Condor into San Francisco Bay have abandoned her – gone off to the gold-diggings! Arriving in the heat of the placer-fever, they preferred seeking fortune with pick, shovel, and pan, to handling tarry ropes at ten dollars a month. Almost on the instant of the ship’s dropping anchor they deserted to a man, leaving her skipper to himself, or with only his cook for a companion.

      Neither is the latter Chilian, but African – a native of Zanzibar. No more the two great monkeys, observed gambolling about the deck; for the climate of Chili, lying outside the equatorial belt, is too cold for indigenous quadrumana.

      Not much appearing upon the Condor would proclaim her a South American ship; and nothing in her cargo, for a cargo she carries. She has just arrived from a trading voyage to the South Sea Isles, extending to the Indian Archipelago, whence her lading – a varied assortment, consisting of tortoise-shell, spices, mother-of-pearl, Manilla cigars, and such other commodities as may be collected among the Oriental islands. Hence also the myas monkeys – better known as orang-outangs – seen playing about her deck. These she has brought from Borneo.

      Only a small portion of her freight had been consigned to San Francisco; this long ago landed. The rest remains in her hold for further transport to Valparaiso.

      How soon she may arrive there, or take departure from her present anchorage, is a question that even her skipper cannot answer. If asked, he would most probably reply, “Quien sabe?” and, further pressed, might point to her deserted decks, offering that as an explanation of his inability to satisfy the inquirer.

      Her captain – Antonio Lantanas by name – is a sailor of the Spanish-American type; and being this, he takes crosses and disappointments coolly. Even the desertion of his crew seems scarcely to have ruffled him; he bears it with a patient resignation, that would be quite incomprehensible to either English or Yankee skipper. With a broad-brimmed jipi-japa hat shading his swarth features from the sun, he lounges all day long upon the quarterdeck, his elbows usually rested upon the capstan-head; his sole occupation rolling and smoking paper cigarritos, one of which is usually either in his fingers, or between his lips. If he at any time varies this, it is to eat his meals, or to take a turn at play with his pet monkeys.

      These creatures are male and female, both full of fun in their uncouth fashion; and Captain Lantanas takes it out of them by occasionally touching their snouts with the lit end of his cigarette, laughing to see them scamper off, scared at the (to them) singular, and somewhat painful, effect of fire.

      His meals are served regularly three times a day, and his cook – the aforesaid negro, black as the tar upon the rattlin ropes – after having served them, returns to an idleness equalling his own. He too, has his diversion with the orangs, approaching much nearer to them in physical appearance, and for this reason, perhaps, a more congenial playmate.

      Once a day the skipper steps into his gig, and rows himself ashore. But not to search for sailors. He knows that would be an idle errand. True, there are plenty of them in San Francisco; scores parading its streets, and other scores seated, or standing, within its taverns and restaurants. But they are all on the spree – all rollicking, and if not rich, hoping soon to be. Not a man of them could be coaxed to take service on board an outbound ship for wages less than would make the voyage little profitable to her owner.

      As the Chilian skipper is not only master, but proprietor of his own craft, he has no intention to stir under the circumstances; but is contented to wait till times change, СКАЧАТЬ