“Don’t be in such hot haste. You forget we’ve something to do; which must be done first—before everything else.”
“What?”
“Look up Harry Blew; find him, if we can; and coax him to take service in this Chilian ship.”
“He won’t require much coaxing, once you say the word. The old salt is anything but ungrateful. Indeed, his regard for you, ever since you saved him from that shark, is more like real gratitude than anything I ever saw. He fairly worships you, Ned. He told me the day before he left the Crusader, that parting with you was the only thing which greatly grieved him. I saw the tears trickling down his cheeks, as you shook hands with him over the rail. Even then, if you’d said stay, I believe he’d have turned back into his old berth.”
“I didn’t, because I wished him to do better. You know he’d have a splendid chance here in California—to get rich by gold-digging, which no doubt he might, like a great many other humble sailors as himself. But now, this other chance has turned up in his favour, which I should say is surer. Don Gregorio has told us he can get from the Chilian captain almost any pay he may please to ask; besides, a fair likelihood of being made his first mate. That would suit Harry to a hair; in my opinion, answering his purpose far better than any gold-washing speculation. Though a man of first rating aboard ship, he’s a mere child when ashore; and would be no more able to protect himself against the land-sharks of San Francisco, than he was to get out of the way of that sea-skimmer at Guaymas. Even if he should succeed in growing rich up the Sacramento River, I’d lay large odds, he’d be back here in port, and poor as ever, within a week. We must save him from that if we can. His natural element is the ocean. He has spent the greater part of his life on it, and here’s a fine opportunity for him to return to, and stay upon it. That for life, if he likes, with better prospects than he could ever have had on board a man-o’-war. The question is, how we shall be able to find him in this rookery of a place. Did he say anything, when you saw him, about where he was sojourning!”
“By Jove! he just did. Now, I recall our conversation, I remember him telling me that he was staying at a sort of a boarding-house, or restaurant, called the ‘Sailor’s Home,’ though he made no mention of the street. But, if I mistake not, I know the place, and can steer pretty straight for it.”
“Straight or crooked, let’s set head for it at once. We’ve plenty of time, if that were all. I told the coxswain not to come for us till well after eleven. I want to see something of this queer Californian life, of which I haven’t had much experience yet.”
“The same with myself.”
“Well, we may never again get such a chance. Indeed, it’s not likely we’ll be allowed another night ashore, before the Crusader sails. Therefore, let us make hay while the sun shines, or, to speak less figuratively, a little merriment by the light of the moon. We’ve been either savage, or sentimental, all the day, and need changing our tune.”
“You’re right about that; but the music is not likely to be made by moonlight—not much of it. See those great clouds rolling up yonder! They’ll be all over the sky in ten minutes’ time, making it black as a pot of pitch.”