Chapter Twenty Six.
Opportune Visitors.
Having resolved upon returning to his ship—and that very night, if he can but get a boat—Harry Blew is about to sally forth into the street, when his egress is unexpectedly prevented. Not by the landlord of the “Sailor’s Home,” nor his representative behind the bar. These would only be too glad to get rid of a guest with two days’ reckoning in arrear. For they have surreptitiously inspected his sea-chest, and found it to contain a full suit of “Sunday go-ashores,” with other effects, which they deemed sufficient collateral security for the debt. And as it has been already hypothecated for this, both Boniface and bar-keeper would rather rejoice to see their sailor-guest clear out of the “Home” for good, leaving the chest behind him. On this condition they would be willing to wipe out the debt, both boarding and bar-score. Harry has no thought of thus parting with his kit. Now that he has made up his mind to return to the Crusader, a better prospect is opened up to him. He has hopes that on his making appearance aboard, and again entering his name on the frigate’s books, the purser will advance him a sum sufficient to release his retained chattels. Or, he can in all likelihood collect the money among his old messmates. Not for this reason is he so anxious to reach the ship that night, but because he has no other chance of having any place to sleep in—save the street. The tavern-keeper has notified him, in plain terms, that he must peremptorily leave; and he is about to act upon the notification, and take departure, when prevented, as already said.
What now hinders him from going out of the “Home” is a man coming into it; or rather two—since two shadows have suddenly darkened the door, and are projected across the sanded floor of the bar-room. Not like shadows in the eyes of Harry Blew, but streaks of brightest sunlight! For in the individuals entering he recognises two of his officers; one of them his best friend, who saved his life. Crozier and Cadwallader have discovered him.
At sight of them the discharged sailor salutes promptly, and with as much respect as if all were on the quarterdeck of the Crusader. But with much more demonstration; for their well-timed appearance draws from him an exclamation of joy. Jerking off his straw hat, and giving a twitch to one of his brow-locks, he bobs his head several times in succession, with a simultaneous back-scrape of his foot upon the floor.
His obeisance ended, he stands silently awaiting whatever communication the young officers have to make. He is already aware that their business is with himself: for the bar-room is but dimly lit, and Crozier, while crossing its threshold, not at once recognising him, had called out:
“Is there a sailor staying here, by name Harry Blew!”
“Ay, ay, sir!” was the prompt response, the sailor himself giving it, along with the salutation described.
During the short interval of silence that succeeds, Harry’s heart can be distinctly heard beating. Lately depressed—“Down in the dumps,” as he himself would word it—it is now up in his throat. The sight of his patron, the saver of his life, is like having it saved a second time. Perhaps they have come to ask him to rejoin the ship? If so, ’tis the very thing he was thinking of. He will not anticipate, but waits for them to declare their errand.
“Well, Harry, old boy,” says Crozier, after warmly shaking the sailor’s hand, “I’m right glad to find you here. I was afraid you’d gone off to the diggings.”
“True, Master Ed’ard; I did intend standin’ on that tack, but ha’n’t been able to get under way, for want o’ a wind.”
“Want of a wind? I don’t quite understand you.”
“Why, you see, sir, I’ve been a little bit spreeish since comin’ ashore, and my locker’s got low—more’n that, it’s total cleared out. Though I suppose there be plenty of gold in them diggin’s, it takes gold to get there; and as I ha’n’t any, I’m laid up here like an old hulk foul o’ a mud bank. That’s just how it be, gen’lemen.”
“In which case, perhaps you mightn’t feel indisposed to go to sea again?”
“Just the thing I war thinkin’ o’, Master Ed’ard. I’d a’most made up my mind to it, sir, an’ war ’bout startin’ to try get aboard the old Crusader, and askin’ your honour to ha’ my name entered on her books again. I’m willin’ to join for a fresh tarm, if they’ll take me.”
“They’d take, and be glad to get you, Harry; you may be sure of that. Such a skilled sailor need never be without a ship, where there’s a British man-of-war within hailing distance. But we don’t want you to join the Crusader.”
“How is that, sir?”
“Because we can help you to something a little better. At least, it will be more to your advantage in a pecuniary sense. You wouldn’t mind shipping in a merchant-vessel, with wages three or four times as much as you can get in a man-of-war? How would you like that, Harry?”
“I’d like it amazin’ly, sir. And for the matter o’ being a merchanter, that’s neither here nor there, so long’s you recommend it. I’ll go as cook, if you tell me to.”
“No, no, Harry, not that,” laughingly replies the young officer. “That would never do. I should pity those who had to eat the dishes you’d dress for them. Besides, I should be sorry to see you stewing your strength away in front of a galley-fire. You must do better than that; and it chances I’m authorised to offer you something better. It’s a berth on board a trading-ship, and one with some special advantages. She’s a Chilian vessel, and her captain is, I believe, either Chilian or Spanish. That won’t make any difference to you?”
“Not a doit, sir. I don’t care what the ship’s colours be, nor what country her skipper, so long’s he allows good wages an’ plenty o’ grub.”
“And plenty of grog too, Harry?”
“Ay, ay, sir. I confess to a weakness for that—leastways the reg’lar three times a day.”
“No doubt you’ll get it, as often as you’ve a mind. But, Harry, I have a word to say about that. Besides my interest in your own welfare, I’ve another and more selfish one in this Chilian ship. So has Mr Cadwallader. We both want you to be on your best behaviour during the trip you’re to take in her. On board will be two lady passengers, as far as Panama; for the ship is bound thither, and for ports beyond—I believe as far as Valparaiso. But the ladies are to land at Panama; and, so long as they’re with you, you must do everything in your power to make things agreeable for them. If they should ever be in any danger—from storm, shipwreck, or otherwise—you’ll stand by them?”
“Yes, Harry,” adds Cadwallader, “you’ll do that, won’t you?”
“Lor’, your honours!” exclaims the sailor, showing surprise. “Sure ye needn’t put sich a questin to me—a British man-o’-war’s man? I’d do that much, anyhow, out o’ sheer starn sense o’ duty. But when it comes to takin’ care o’ two ladies—to say nothin’ about theer bein’ so young, and so beautiful—”
“Avast, Harry! How do you know they are either one or the other?” asks Crozier, surprised; Cadwallader repeating the question.
“Lor’ love ye, masters! Do ye think a common sailor han’t got eyes in his head, for anythin’ but ropes an’ tar? You forget I war o’ the boat’s crew as rowed two sweet creeturs on board the Crusader, the night o’ the grand dancin’; and arterward took the same ashore, along wi’ two young gen’lemen, as went to see ’em home. Sure, sirs, actin’ cox on that occasion, I couldn’t help hearin’ some o’ the speeches as passed in the starn-sheets—tho’ they wur spoken in the ears of the señoritas, soft as the breeze that fanned their fair cheeks, an’ brought the colour out on ’em red as Ribston pippins.”
“Avast again, you rascal! So you’ve been eavesdropping, have you? I quite forgot you understood Spanish.”
“Only a trifle, Master Ed’ard.”
“Too much for that occasion.”
“Ah! well, your honour, it may stand me in good stead now—aboard the ship you speak o’.”
“Well, Harry, I’m not going to scold you, seeing that you couldn’t help hearing what you did. And now, I may as well tell you that the young ladies you saw that night in the boat are the same who are to be the passengers in the Chilian ship. You’ll take good care of them, I know.”
“That you may depend on, sir. Any one as touches hair o’ their heads, to do ’em an injury, ’ll have to tear the whole o’ his off the head o’ Harry Blew. I’ll see ’em safe to Panama, or never show myself there. I promise that; an’ I think both your honours ’ll take the word of a British man-o’-war’s man.”
“That’s enough—perfectly satisfactory! Now to give you the necessary directions about joining this ship. She’s lying at anchor somewhere about in the bay. I didn’t think of getting her name, but you’ll find her easily enough. An’ you needn’t go in search of her till you’ve seen the gentleman whose name is upon this card. You see: ‘Don Tomas Silvestre,’ a ship-agent. His office is down in one of the streets by the strand. Report yourself to him first thing in the morning. In all likelihood he’ll engage you on sight, make out your papers, and give you full directions for getting aboard the ship. It appears she’s short of hands; indeed, even without a single sailor. And, by the way, Harry, if you apply soon enough, it’s good as certain you’ll be made mate—first at that; all the more from your being able to speak Spanish. It’s too late for you to do anything about it to-night; but don’t oversleep yourself. Be at the ship-agent’s to-morrow betimes.”
“Ye can trust me for that, sir. I’ll show my figurehead there first thing in the mornin’. No fears o’ any one getting theer afore me, if they’ve not gone a’ready.”
“I think no one will be before you—I hope not. Send us word how you have succeeded, as the Crusader will likely be in port long enough for us to hear from you. Still, as she may sail on short notice, we may not see you again. Remember, then, what we’ve said about the señoritas. We shall rely upon your fidelity.”
“An’ well may ye, masters. You can both trust your lives to Harry Blew, an’ those of them as is dear to you.”
“All right, old boy!” exclaims Crozier, satisfied. “We must now part; but let’s hope we’ll meet again. When you get back to England you know where to find me. So, good-bye! Give us a grip of your honest fist, and God bless you!”
Saying this, he grasps the horny hand of the sailor, and warmly presses it. The pressure is returned by a squeeze that gives assurance of more than ordinary friendship. It is the grip of true gratitude; and the look which accompanies it tells of a devoted friendship, bordering on adoration.
Cadwallader also exchanges a like parting salutation; after which, the young officers start off, to continue their cruise through the streets of “Frisko.”