But in whatever degree felt, it always assumes the same shape—two figures conspicuous in it, besides those of their betrothed sweethearts—two faces of evil omen, one that of Calderon, the other De Lara’s.
What the young officers saw of these men, and what more they learnt of them before leaving San Francisco, makes natural their misgivings, and justifies their fears. Something seems to whisper them, that there is danger to be dreaded from the gamblers—desperadoes as they have shown themselves—that through them some eventuality may arise, affecting the future of Carmen Montijo and Iñez Alvarez—even to prevent their escaping from California.
Escape! Yes; that is the word which Crozier and Cadwallader make use of in their conversation on the subject—the form in which their fear presents itself.
Before reaching the Sandwich Islands, they receive a scrap of intelligence, which in some respect cheers them. It has become known to the Crusader’s crew that the frigate is to make but short stay there—will not even enter the harbour of Honolulu. The commission entrusted to her captain is of no very important nature. He is simply to leave an official despatch, with some commands for the British consul: after which head round again, and straight for Panama.
“Good news; isn’t it, Ned?” says Cadwallader to his senior, as the two on watch together stand conversing. “With the quick time we’ve made from ’Frisco, as the Yankees call it, and no delay to speak of in the Sandwiches, we ought to get to the Isthmus nearly as soon as the Chilian ship.”
“True; but it will a good deal depend on the time the Chilian ship leaves San Francisco. No doubt she’d have great difficulty in getting a sufficient number of hands. Blew told you there was but the captain and himself!”
“Only they; and the cook, an old darkey—a runaway slave, he said. Besides a brace of great red baboons—orangs. That was the whole of her crew, by last report! Well; in one way we ought to be glad she’s so short,” continues the midshipman. “It may give us the chance of reaching Panama soon as she, if not before her; and, as the frigate’s destined to put into that port, we may meet the dear girls again, sooner than we expected.”
“I hope and trust we shall. I’d give a thousand pounds to be sure of it. It would lift a load off my mind—the heaviest I’ve ever had on it.”
“Off mine, too. But even if we don’t reach Panama soon as the Chilian craft, we’ll hear whether she’s passed through there. If she have, that’ll set things right enough. We’ll then know they’re safe, and will be so—‘Hasta Cadiz’.”
“It seems a good omen,” says Crozier, reflectingly, “that we are not to be delayed at the Islands.”