Chapter Thirty Nine.
The “Blue-Peter.”
The ex-man-o’-war’s man, now first officer of a merchant-vessel, and provided with a boat of his own, orders off the skiff he has kept in waiting, after tossing into it two dollars—the demanded fare. Then slipping down into the Condor’s gig, sculls himself ashore.
Leaving his boat at the pier, he first goes to the office of the ship-agent, and delivers the message entrusted to him.
After that, contracting with a truckman, he proceeds to the “Sailor’s Home,” releases his impedimenta, and starts back to embark them in his boat. But not before giving the bar-keeper, as also the Boniface, of that establishment, a bit of his mind.
Spreading before their eyes the crisp hundred pound note, which as yet he has not needed to break, he says tauntingly:
“Take a squint at that, ye land-lubbers! There’s British money for ye. An’ tho’ it be but a bit o’ paper it’s worth more than your gold-dross, dollar for dollar. How’d ye like to lay your ugly claws on’t! Ah! you’re a pair of the most dastardly shore-sharks I’ve met in all my cruzins; but ye’ll never have Harry Blew in your grups again.”
Saying this, he thrusts the bank-note back into his pocket; then paying them a last reverence with mock-politeness, and giving a twitch of his trousers, he starts after the truckman, already en route with his kit.
In accordance with the wishes of Captain Lantanas, he stays a little longer in the town, trying to pick up sailors. There are plenty of these sauntering along the streets and lounging at the doors of drinking-saloons.
But even double wages will not tempt them to abandon their free-and-easy life; and the Condor’s first officer is forced to the conclusion, that he must return to the ship solus.
Assisted by the truckman, he gets his traps into the gig; and is about to step in himself, when his eye chances to turn upon the Crusader. There he sees something to surprise him—the Blue-Peter. The frigate has out signals for sailing! and he wonders at this; for there was no word of it when he was aboard. He knew, as all the others, that she was to sail soon—it might be in a day or two. But not as the signal indicates,—almost immediately!
While conjecturing what may be the cause of such hasty departure, he sees something that partly explains it. Three or four cables’ length from the frigate is another ship, over whose taffrail floats the flag of England. At a glance, the ex-man-o’-war’s man can tell her to be a corvette; at the same time recalling what, the night before, he has heard upon the frigate: that the coming of the corvette would be the signal for the Crusader’s sailing.
While his heart warms to the flag thus doubly displayed in the harbour of San Francisco, it is a little saddened to see the other signal—the “Blue-Peter;” since it tells him he may not have an opportunity to take a more formal leave of his friends of the frigate, which he designed doing. He longs to make known to Mr Crozier and the midshipman the result of his application to the captain of the Chilian ship, and receive the congratulations of the young officers on his success; but now it may be impossible to communicate with them, by the Crusader so soon leaving port.
He has half a mind to put off for the frigate in the Condor’s gig, into which he has got. But Captain Lantanas might, meanwhile, be wanting both him and the boat.
All at once, in the midst of his dilemma, he sees that which promises to help him out of it,—a small boat putting off from the frigate’s sides, and heading right for the pier.
As it draws nearer, he can tell it to be the dingy.
There are three men in it—two rowers and a steersman.
As it approaches the pier-head, Harry recognises the one in the stern-sheets, whose bright ruddy face is turned towards him.
“Thank the Lord for such good luck!” he mutters. “It’s Mr Cadwallader!”
By this the dingy has drawn near enough for the midshipman to see and identify him; which he does, exclaiming in joyful surprise:
“By Jove! it’s Blew himself! Hallo there, Harry! You’re just the man I’m coming ashore to see. Hold, starboard oar! Port oar, a stroke or two! Way enough!”
In a few seconds, the dingy is bow on to the gig; when Harry, seizing hold of it, brings the two boats side by side, and steadies them.
“Glad to see ye again, Master Willie. I’d just sighted the frigate’s signal for sailin’, an’ despaired o’ havin’ the chance to say a last word to yourself, or Mr Crozier.”
“Well, old boy; it’s about that I’ve come ashore. Jump out; and walk with me a bit along the wharf.”
The sailor drops his oar, and springs out upon the pier, the young officer preceding him.
When sufficiently distant from the boats to be beyond earshot of the oarsmen, Cadwallader resumes speech:
“Harry; here’s a letter from Mr Crozier. He wants you to deliver it at the address you’ll find written upon it. To save you the necessity of inquiring, I can point out the place it’s to go to. Look along shore. You see a house—yonder on the top of the hill?”
“Sartinly, I see it, Master Willie; and know who lives theer. Two o’ the sweetest creeturs in all Californey. I s’pose the letter be for one o’ them?”
“No, it isn’t, you dog; for neither of them. Read the superscription. You see it’s addressed to a gentleman?”
“Oh! it’s for the guv’nor hisself,” rejoins Harry, taking the letter, and running his eye over the direction—Don Gregorio Montijo. “All right, sir. I’ll put it in the old gentleman’s flippers safe an’ sure. Do you want me to go with it now, sir?”
“Well, as soon as you conveniently can; though there’s no need for helter-skelter haste, since there wouldn’t be time for an answer, anyhow. In twenty minutes we’ll weigh anchor, and be off. I’ve hurried ashore to see you, hoping to find you at the ship-agent’s office. How fortunate my stumbling on you here! For now I can better tell you what’s wanted. In that letter, there’s something that concerns Mr Crozier and myself—matters of importance to us both. When you’ve given it to Don Gregorio, he’ll no doubt ask you some questions about what happened last night. Tell him all you know; except that you needn’t say anything of Mr Crozier and myself having taken a little too much champagne—which we did. You understand, old boy?”
“Perfectly, Master Will.”
“Good. Now Harry; I haven’t another moment to stay. See! The ship’s beginning to spread canvas! If I don’t get back directly, I may be left here in California, never to rise above the rank of reefer. Oh! by the way, you’ll be pleased to know that your friend Mr Crozier is now a lieutenant. His commission arrived by the corvette that came in last night. He told me to tell you, and I’d nearly forgotten it.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” rejoins the sailor, raising the hat from his head, and giving a subdued cheer; “right gled; an’, maybe, he’ll be the same, hearin’ Harry Blew’s been also promoted. I’m now first mate o’ the Chili ship, Master Willie.”
“Hurrah! I congratulate you on your good luck. I’m delighted to know that, and so will he be. We may hope some day to see you a full-fledged skipper, commanding your own craft. Now, you dear old salt, don’t forget to look well after the girls. Again, good-bye, and God bless you!”
A squeeze of hands, with lingers entwined, tight as a reef-knot—then relaxed with reluctance—after which they separate. The mid, jumping into the dingy, is rowed back towards the Crusader; while Harry re-hires the truckman; but now only to stay by, and take care of his boat, till he can return to it, after executing the errand entrusted to him. Snug as his new berth promises to be, he would rather lose it than fail to deliver that letter.
And in ten minutes after, he has passed through the suburbs of the town, and is hastening along the shore-road, towards the house of Don Gregorio Montijo.