The Flag of Distress: A Story of the South Sea

“Take a squint at that, ye land-lubbers! There’s British money for ye. An’ tho’ it be but a bit o’ paper it’s worth more than your gold-dross, dollar for dollar. How’d ye like to lay your ugly claws on’t! Ah! you’re a pair of the most dastardly shore-sharks I’ve met in all my cruzins; but ye’ll never have Harry Blew in your grups again.”

Saying this, he thrusts the bank-note back into his pocket; then paying them a last reverence with mock-politeness, and giving a twitch of his trousers, he starts after the truckman, already en route with his kit.

In accordance with the wishes of Captain Lantanas, he stays a little longer in the town, trying to pick up sailors. There are plenty of these sauntering along the streets and lounging at the doors of drinking-saloons.

But even double wages will not tempt them to abandon their free-and-easy life; and the Condor’s first officer is forced to the conclusion, that he must return to the ship solus.

Assisted by the truckman, he gets his traps into the gig; and is about to step in himself, when his eye chances to turn upon the Crusader. There he sees something to surprise him – the Blue-Peter. The frigate has out signals for sailing! and he wonders at this; for there was no word of it when he was aboard. He knew, as all the others, that she was to sail soon – it might be in a day or two. But not as the signal indicates, – almost immediately!

While conjecturing what may be the cause of such hasty departure, he sees something that partly explains it. Three or four cables’ length from the frigate is another ship, over whose taffrail floats the flag of England. At a glance, the ex-man-o’-war’s man can tell her to be a corvette; at the same time recalling what, the night before, he has heard upon the frigate: that the coming of the corvette would be the signal for the Crusader’s sailing.

While his heart warms to the flag thus doubly displayed in the harbour of San Francisco, it is a little saddened to see the other signal – the “Blue-Peter;” since it tells him he may not have an opportunity to take a more formal leave of his friends of the frigate, which he designed doing. He longs to make known to Mr Crozier and the midshipman the result of his application to the captain of the Chilian ship, and receive the congratulations of the young officers on his success; but now it may be impossible to communicate with them, by the Crusader so soon leaving port.

He has half a mind to put off for the frigate in the Condor’s gig, into which he has got. But Captain Lantanas might, meanwhile, be wanting both him and the boat.

All at once, in the midst of his dilemma, he sees that which promises to help him out of it, – a small boat putting off from the frigate’s sides, and heading right for the pier.

As it draws nearer, he can tell it to be the dingy.

There are three men in it – two rowers and a steersman.

As it approaches the pier-head, Harry recognises the one in the stern-sheets, whose bright ruddy face is turned towards him.

“Thank the Lord for such good luck!” he mutters. “It’s Mr Cadwallader!”

By this the dingy has drawn near enough for the midshipman to see and identify him; which he does, exclaiming in joyful surprise:

“By Jove! it’s Blew himself! Hallo there, Harry! You’re just the man I’m coming ashore to see. Hold, starboard oar! Port oar, a stroke or two! Way enough!”

In a few seconds, the dingy is bow on to the gig; when Harry, seizing hold of it, brings the two boats side by side, and steadies them.

“Glad to see ye again, Master Willie. I’d just sighted the frigate’s signal for sailin’, an’ despaired o’ havin’ the chance to say a last word to yourself, or Mr Crozier.”

“Well, old boy; it’s about that I’ve come ashore. Jump out; and walk with me a bit along the wharf.”

The sailor drops his oar, and springs out upon the pier, the young officer preceding him.

When sufficiently distant from the boats to be beyond earshot of the oarsmen, Cadwallader resumes speech:

“Harry; here’s a letter from Mr Crozier. He wants you to deliver it at the address you’ll find written upon it. To save you the necessity of inquiring, I can point out the place it’s to go to. Look along shore. You see a house – yonder on the top of the hill?”

“Sartinly, I see it, Master Willie; and know who lives theer. Two o’ the sweetest creeturs in all Californey. I s’pose the letter be for one o’ them?”

“No, it isn’t, you dog; for neither of them. Read the superscription. You see it’s addressed to a gentleman?”

“Oh! it’s for the guv’nor hisself,” rejoins Harry, taking the letter, and running his eye over the direction – Don Gregorio Montijo. “All right, sir. I’ll put it in the old gentleman’s flippers safe an’ sure. Do you want me to go with it now, sir?”

“Well, as soon as you conveniently can; though there’s no need for helter-skelter haste, since there wouldn’t be time for an answer, anyhow. In twenty minutes we’ll weigh anchor, and be off. I’ve hurried ashore to see you, hoping to find you at the ship-agent’s office. How fortunate my stumbling on you here! For now I can better tell you what’s wanted. In that letter, there’s something that concerns Mr Crozier and myself – matters of importance to us both. When you’ve given it to Don Gregorio, he’ll no doubt ask you some questions about what happened last night. Tell him all you know; except that you needn’t say anything of Mr Crozier and myself having taken a little too much champagne – which we did. You understand, old boy?”

“Perfectly, Master Will.”

“Good. Now Harry; I haven’t another moment to stay. See! The ship’s beginning to spread canvas! If I don’t get back directly, I may be left here in California, never to rise above the rank of reefer. Oh! by the way, you’ll be pleased to know that your friend Mr Crozier is now a lieutenant. His commission arrived by the corvette that came in last night. He told me to tell you, and I’d nearly forgotten it.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” rejoins the sailor, raising the hat from his head, and giving a subdued cheer; “right gled; an’, maybe, he’ll be the same, hearin’ Harry Blew’s been also promoted. I’m now first mate o’ the Chili ship, Master Willie.”

“Hurrah! I congratulate you on your good luck. I’m delighted to know that, and so will he be. We may hope some day to see you a full-fledged skipper, commanding your own craft. Now, you dear old salt, don’t forget to look well after the girls. Again, good-bye, and God bless you!”

A squeeze of hands, with lingers entwined, tight as a reef-knot – then relaxed with reluctance – after which they separate. The mid, jumping into the dingy, is rowed back towards the Crusader; while Harry re-hires the truckman; but now only to stay by, and take care of his boat, till he can return to it, after executing the errand entrusted to him. Snug as his new berth promises to be, he would rather lose it than fail to deliver that letter.

And in ten minutes after, he has passed through the suburbs of the town, and is hastening along the shore-road, towards the house of Don Gregorio Montijo.

Chapter Forty.

Dreading a “Desafio.”

Once more upon the azotea stand Carmen Montijo and Iñez Alvarez.

It is the morning of the day succeeding that made sacred by their betrothal. Their eyes are upon the huge warship, that holds the men who holds their hearts, with promise of their hands – in short, every hope of their life’s happiness.

They could be happy now, but for an apprehension which oppresses them – causing them keen anxiety. Yesterday, with its scenes of pleasureable excitement, had also its incidents of the opposite kind; the remembrance of which too vividly remains, and is not to be got rid of. The encounter between the gamblers and their lovers cannot end with that episode, to which they were themselves witness. Something more will surely come from it.

And what will this something be? What should it? What could it, but a desafio– a duel?

However brave on yester-morn the two señoritas were, or pretended to be, however regardless of consequences, it is different to-day. The circumstances have changed. Then, their sweethearts were only suitors. Now, they are affianced, still standing in the relationship of lovers, but with ties more firmly, if not more tenderly, united. For are they not now their own.

Of the two girls, Iñez is less anxious than the aunt, having less cause to be. With the observant intelligence of woman, she has long since seen that Calderon is a coward, and for this reason has but little belief he will fight. With instinct equally keen, Carmen knows De Lara well. After his terrible humiliation, he is not the man to shrink away out of sight. Blackleg though he be, he possesses courage – perhaps the only quality he has deserving of admiration. Once, she herself admired the quality, if not the man! That remembrance itself makes her fear what may come.

She talks in serious tone, discussing with her niece the probabilities of what may arise. The delirious joy of yester-eve – of that hour when she sat in her saddle, looking over the ocean, and listening to the sweet words of love – is to-day succeeded by depression, almost despondency.

While conversing, she has her eyes upon the bay, watching the boats that, at intervals, are rowed off from the warship, fearing to recognise in one the form of him so dear. Fearing it; for they know that her lover is not likely to be ashore again, and his coming now could only be on that errand she, herself, so much dreads – the duel. Duty should retain him on his, the young officer’s, ship, but honour may require him once more to visit the shore – perhaps never to leave it alive!

Thus gloomily reflects Carmen, imparting her fears to the less frightened Iñez; though she too is not without apprehension. If they but understood the “Code of Signals,” all this misery would be spared them. Since from the frigate’s main-royal masthead floats a blue flag, with a white square in its centre, which is a portent she will soon spread her sails, and glide off out of sight – carrying their amantes beyond all danger of duels, or shore-scrapes of any kind.

They observe the “Blue-Peter,” but without knowing aught of its significance. They do not even try to interpret, or think of it; their thoughts, as their eyes, concentrated upon the boats that pass between ship and shore.

One at length specially arrests their attention, and keeps it for some time fixed. A small craft that, leaving the ship, is steered direct for the town. It passes near enough for them to see there are three men in it; two of them rowing, the other in the stern – this last in the uniform of an officer.

Love’s glance is keen, and, aided by an opera-glass, it enables Iñez Alvarez to identify the officer in the stern-sheets as Don Gulielmo. The other two – the oarsmen – are only sailors in blue serge shirts, with wide collars, falling far back.

For what the young officer is being rowed ashore, the ladies cannot guess. If for fighting, they know that another, and older, officer, would be with him. Where is Don Eduardo?

While still conjecturing, the boat glides on towards the town, and is lost to their view behind some sand-hills inshore.

Their glance going back to the ship, they perceive a change in her aspect. Her tall tapering masts, with their network of stays and shrouds, are half-hidden behind broad sheets of canvas. The frigate is unfurling sail! They are surprised at this, not expecting it so soon. With the help of their glasses, they observe other movements going on aboard the war-vessel: signal-flags running up and down their haulyards, while boats are being hoisted to the davits.

While still watching these manoeuvres, the little craft which carries the midshipman again appears, shooting out from behind the sand-hills, and rowed rapidly back to the ship, the young officer still in it.

On reaching the great leviathan, for a short time it shows like a tiny spot along her water-line; but, soon after, it too is lifted aloft, and over the bulwark rail.

Ignorant as the young ladies may be of nautical matters, they can have no doubt as to what all this manoeuvring means. The ship is about to sail!

As this is an event which interests all the family, Don Gregorio, summoned to the house-top, soon stands beside them.

“She’s going off, sure enough,” he says, after sighting through one of the glasses. “It’s rather strange – so abruptly!” he adds. “Our young friends said nothing about it last night.”

“I think they could not have known of it themselves,” says Carmen.

“I’m sure they couldn’t,” adds Iñez.

“What makes you sure, niña?” asked Don Gregorio.

“Well – because,” – stammers out the Andalusian, a flush starting into her cheeks – “because they’d have told us. They said they didn’t expect to sail for a day or two, anyhow.”

“Just so; but you see they’re setting sail now – evidently intending to take departure. However, I fancy I can explain it. You remember they spoke of another warship they expected to arrive. Yonder it is! It came into port last night, and, in all likelihood, has brought orders for the Crusader to sail at once. I only wish it was the Condor! I sha’n’t sleep soundly till we’re safe away from – ”

“See!” interrupts Carmen; “is not that a sailor coming this way?”

She points to a man, moving along the shore-road in the direction of the house.

“I think so,” responds Don Gregorio, after a glance through the glass. “He appears to be in seaman’s dress.”

“Would he be coming here?” inquires Carmen, naïvely.

“I shouldn’t be surprised; probably with a message from our young friends. It may be the man they recommended to me.”

“That’s why somebody went ashore in the little boat,” whispers Iñez to her aunt. “He’s bringing us billetitas. I was sure they wouldn’t go away without leaving a last little word.”

Iñez’s speech imparts no information: for Carmen has been surmising in the same strain.

She replies by one of those proverbs, in which the Spanish tongue is so rich:

“Silencio! hay Moros en la costa,” – (Silence! there are Moors on the coast).

While this bit of by-play is being carried on, the sailor ascends the hill, and is seen entering at the road-gate. There can now be no uncertainty as to his calling. The blue jacket, broad shirt-collar, round-ribboned hat, and bell-bottomed trousers, are all the unmistakable toggery of a tar.

Advancing up the avenue in a rolling gait, with an occasional tack from side to side – that almost fetches him up among the manzanitas – he at length reaches the front of the house. There stopping, and looking up to the roof, he salutes those upon it by removing his hat giving a back-scrape with his foot, and a pluck at one of his brow-locks.

“Que guieres V., señor?” – (What is your business, sir?), asks the haciendado, speaking down to him.

Harry Blew – for it is he – replies by holding out a letter, at the same time saying:

“Your honour; I’ve brought this for the master o’ the house.”

“I am he. Go in through that door you see below. I’ll come down to you.”

Don Gregorio descends the escalera, and meeting the messenger in the inner court, receives the letter addressed to him.

Breaking it open, he reads:

“Estimable Sir, – Circumstances have arisen that take us away from San Francisco sooner than we expected. The corvette that came into port last night brought orders for the Crusader to sail at once; though our destination is the same as already known to you – the Sandwich Islands. As the ship is about to weigh anchor, I have barely time to write a word for myself, and Mr Cadwallader. We think it proper to make known some circumstances which will, no doubt, cause you surprise, as they did ourselves. Yesterday morning we met at your house two gentlemen – as courtesy would then have required me to call them – by name Francisco de Lara and Faustino Calderon. We encountered them at a later hour of the day; when an occurrence took place, which absolved us from either thinking of them as gentlemen, or treating them as such. And still later, after leaving your hospitable roof, we, for the third time, came across the same two individuals, under circumstances showing them to be professional gamblers! In fact, we found them to be the proprietors of a monté bank in the notorious ‘El Dorado;’ one of them actually engaged in dealing the cards! A spirit of fun, with perhaps a spice of mischief, led me into the play, and betting largely, I succeeded in breaking their bank. After that, for a short while we lost sight of them. But as we were making our way to the pier, where our boat was to meet us, we had a fourth interview with these ‘gentlemen;’ who on this occasion appeared with two others in the character of robbers and assassins! That they did not succeed in either robbing or murdering us, is due to the brave fellow who will bear this letter to you – the sailor of whom I spoke. He can give you all the particulars of the last, and latest, encounter with the versatile individuals, who claim acquaintance with you. You may rely on his truthfulness. I have no time to say more.

“Hoping to see you in Cadiz, please convey parting compliments to the señoritas – from the Señor Cadwallader and yours faithfully, Edward Crozier.”

The letter makes a painful impression on the mind of Don Gregorio. Not that he is much surprised at the information regarding De Lara and Calderon. He has heard sinister reports concerning them; of late so loudly spoken, that he had determined on forbidding them further intercourse with his family. That very day he has been displeased on learning of their ill-timed visit. And now he feels chagrin at something like a reproach conveyed by that expression in Crozier’s letter, “The versatile individuals who claim your acquaintance.” It hurts his hidalgo pride.

Thrusting the epistle into his pocket, he questions its bearer; taking him into his private room, as also into his confidence.

The sailor gives him a detailed account of the attempt at murder, so accidentally frustrated; afterwards making known other matters relating to himself, and how he has taken service on the Chilian ship – Don Gregorio inquiring particularly about this.

Meanwhile, the young ladies have descended from the azotea, and the ex-man-o’-war’s man makes their acquaintance.

They assist in showing him hospitality, loading him with pretty presents, and knick-knacks to be carried on board the Condor, to which they know he now belongs.

As he is about to depart, they flutter around him, speaking pleasant words, as if they expected to get something in return – those billetitas. For all, he takes departure, without leaving them a scrap!

A pang of disappointment – almost chagrin – shoots through the soul of Carmen, as she sees him passing out of sight. And similarly afflicted is Iñez; both reflecting alike.

Still they have hope; there may be something enclosed for them in that letter they saw him holding up. It seemed large enough to contain two separate notes. And if not these, there should at least be a postscript with special reference to themselves.

Daughters of Eve, they are not long before approaching the subject, and drawing Don Gregorio.

Yes; there is something said about them in the letter. He communicates it:

“Parting compliments to the señoritas!”

Chapter Forty One.

The Last Look

“Up anchor!”

The order rings along the deck of the Crusader, and the men of the watch stand by the windlass to execute it.

That same morning, Crozier and Cadwallader, turning out of their cots, heard with surprise the order for sending up the “Blue-Peter,” as also that the ship was to weigh anchor by twelve o’clock noon. Of course, they were expecting it, but not so soon. However, the arrival of the corvette explains all; an officer from the latter vessel having already come on board the Crusader with despatches from the flag-ship of the Pacific Squadron.

These contain orders for the frigate to set sail for the Sandwich Islands without delay; the corvette to replace her on the San Francisco station.

The despatch-bearer has also brought a mail; and the Crusader’s people get letters – home-news, welcome to those who have been long away from their native land; for she has been three years cruising in the South Sea.

Something more than mere news several of her officers receive. In large envelopes, addressed to them, and bearing the British Admiralty seal, are documents of peculiar interest – commissions giving them promotion.

Among the rest, one reaches Edward Crozier, advancing him a step in rank. His ability as an officer has been reported at headquarters; as also his gallant conduct in having saved a sailor’s life – rescued him from drowning – that sailor Harry Blew. In all probability this has obtained him his promotion; but whatever the cause, he will leave San Francisco a lieutenant.

There are few officers, naval or military, who would not feel favoured and joyous at such an event in their lives. And so might Edward Crozier at any other time. But it has not this effect now. On the contrary, as the white canvas is being spread above his head, there is a black shadow upon his brow, while that of Cadwallader is alike clouded.

It is not from any regret either feels at leaving California; but leaving it under circumstances that painfully impress them. The occurrences of the day before, but more those of the night, have revealed a state of things that suggest unpleasant reflections, especially to the new-made lieutenant. He cannot cast out of his mind the sinister impression made upon it by the discovery that Don Francisco De Lara – his rival for the hand of Carmen Montijo – is no other than the notorious “Frank Lara,” the keeper of a monté table in the saloon “El Dorado!” Now that he knows it, the knowledge afflicts him, to the laceration of his heart. No wonder at the formality of that letter which he addressed to Don Gregorio, or the insinuation conveyed by it. Nor strange the cold compliments with which it was concluded; far stranger had they been warm.

Among other unpleasant thoughts which the young officers have, on being so soon summoned away, is that of leaving matters unsettled with Messrs De Lara and Calderon. Not that they have any longer either design or desire to stand before such cut-throats in a duel, nor any shame in shunning it. Their last encounter with the scoundrels would absolve them from all stigma or reproach for refusing to fight them – even were there time and opportunity. So, they need have no fear that their honour will suffer, or that any one will apply to them the opprobrious epithet —lâche. Indeed, they have not, and their only regret is at not being able to spend another hour in San Francisco in order that they might look up the foiled assassins, and give them into the custody of the police. But then that would lead to a difficulty which had better be avoided – the necessity of leaving their ship, and staying to prosecute an action in courts where the guilty criminal is quite as likely to be favoured as the innocent prosecutor. It is not to be thought of, and long before the frigate’s anchor is lifted, they cease thinking of it.

Crozier’s last act before leaving port is to write the letter to Don Gregorio; Cadwallader’s to carry it ashore, and deliver it to Harry Blew. Then, in less than twenty minutes after the returned midshipman sets foot on the frigate’s deck, the order is issued for her sails to be sheeted home, the canvas hanging crumpled from her yards is drawn taut, the anchor hauled apeak, and the huge leviathan, obedient to her helm held in strong hands, is brought round, with head towards the Golden Gate.

The wind catches her spread sails, bellies them out, and in five minutes more, with the British flag floating proudly over her taffrail, she passes out of the harbour; leaving many a vessel behind, whose captains, for want of crews, bewail their inability to follow her.

But there are eyes following her, from farther off – beautiful eyes, that express sadness of a different kind, and from a different cause. Carmen Montijo and Iñez Alvarez stand upon the house-top, glasses in hand. Instead, there should have been kerchiefs – white kerchiefs – waving adieu. And there would have been, but for those chilling words: “Parting compliments to the señoritas.” Strange last words for lovers! Santissima! what can it mean?