Although a stranger to the port of San Francisco, Captain Lantanas has some knowledge of his correspondent; for Don Tomas has the day before informed him that a gentleman from whom he may expect to hear—the same whose name is signed to the letter—is a man of immense wealth; a landed proprietor, whose acres lie contiguous to the rising city of San Francisco, and for this reason enormously increased in value by the influx of gold-seeking immigrants. What this important personage may want with him, Lantanas cannot tell; for Silvestre himself has not been made aware of it—the gentleman declining to state his business to any other than the captain of the ship.
On the morning of the appointed day, leaning as usual against his capstan, and puffing his paper cigar, the Chilian skipper is not in a mood for playing with his monkey pets. His mind is given to a more serious matter, his whole thoughts absorbed in conjecturing for what purpose his unknown correspondent may be seeking the interview.
He is not without surmises, in which he is assisted by something he has heard while mixing in Spanish circles ashore—this, that the landowner in question has lately sold his land, realising a very large sum—half a million dollars being the amount stated. Furthermore, that being a Peninsular Spaniard, and neither Mexican nor Californian, he is about to return to Spain, taking with him his household gods—Lares, Penates, and all.
These could not be stowed in a single state-room, but would require a whole ship, or a goodly portion of one. The Condor has still plenty of room to spare. Her hold is not half full; and her cabin has accommodation for one or two passengers. May it be on this business his correspondent is coming aboard.
So Captain Lantanas interrogates himself, while standing upon his quarterdeck, and with the glowing coal of his cigarrito sending off his hairy familiars, who, in their play, at times intrude upon him.
It pleases him to think he may have surmised correctly; and, while still indulging in conjectures, he sees that which puts an end to them—a shore-boat, with a single pair of rowers, and a gentleman—evidently a landsman—seated in the stern-sheets, to all appearance coming on for the Condor.
Captain Lantanas steps to the side of his ship; and, standing in her waist, awaits the arrival of his visitor.
As the boat draws near he makes out a man, dressed in semi-Californian costume, such as is worn by the higher class of haciendados. The skipper can have no doubts about who it is. If he has, they are soon set at rest; for the boat touching the ship’s side is instantly made fast; the haciendado mounts the man-ropes; and, stepping down upon the deck, hands Captain Lantanas his card.
He who has thus presented himself is a man in years well up to sixty, and somewhat above medium height. Taller than he appears, through a slight stoop in the shoulders. His step, though not tottering, shows vigour impaired; and upon his countenance are the traces of recent illness, with strength not yet restored. His complexion is clear, rather rubicund, and in health might be more so; while his hair, both on head and chin—the latter furnished with a long flowing beard—is snow-white. It could never have been very dark, but more likely of the colour called sandy. This, with greyish-blue eyes, and features showing some points of Celtic conformation, would argue him either no Spaniard, or if so, one belonging to the province of Biscay.
This last he is; for the correspondent of Captain Lantanas is Don Gregorio Montijo.