Finding a steward, he gave further cause for bewilderment by asking to be allowed to use a bath-room.
Greatly to Maseden’s relief, his lapse into the vernacular seemed to evoke little or no comment subsequently. The captain heard of it, but was far too irritated by the faulty behavior of a ring-bolt (examination showed a bad flaw in the metal) to pay any special heed. As for the half-caste sailor, his gratitude to Maseden took the form of describing him admiringly as “the vaquero who could swear like an Americano,” an equivocal compliment which actually fostered the belief that Maseden was what he represented himself to be—a vagabond cowboy migrating from one coast of the great South American continent to the other.
His peculiar habits, therefore, shown in such trivial details as a desire for personal cleanliness and a certain fastidiousness at table, were attributed to the same exotic tutelage. Of course, when he spoke any intelligent Spaniard could have detected faults in phrase or pronunciation, but he had a ready resource in the patois of San Juan, and no man on board was competent to assess him accurately by both standards.
He settled down quickly to the exigencies of life at sea. Five days after leaving Cartagena he was an expert in the matter of keeping his feet when the vessel was rolling or pitching, or performing a corkscrew movement which combined the worst features of each.
When the Southern Cross entered more southerly latitudes her passengers were given ample opportunity to test their skill in this respect. The weather grew colder each day, and with the drop in the thermometer came gray skies and rough seas.
There are two tracks for ocean-going steamers bound down the west coast. The open Pacific offers no hindrance to safe navigation, except an occasional heavy gale. The inner course, through Smyth’s Channel, is sheltered but tortuous, and the commander of the Southern Cross elected to save time by heading direct for the Straits of Tierra del Fuego. The ship was speedy and well-found. A stiff nor’wester tended rather to help her along, and she should reach Buenos Ayres within fifteen days.
Maseden contrived to buy a heavy poncho, or cloak, from one of the crew. Wrapped in this useful garment, he patrolled the small space of deck at his disposal, and kept an unfailing eye for the reappearance at the for’ard rail of one or other of the Misses Gray; yet day after day slipped by and they remained obstinately hidden.
Once or twice, when the weather permitted, he climbed to the fore deck, whence he could scan a large part of the promenade deck on both the port and starboard sides. On the port side, however, a wind-screen intervened.