The Flag of Distress: A Story of the South Sea. Reid Mayne
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.
Chapter Seventeen.
A Charter-Party
Soon, as assured – by a glance at the card given him – that his visitor is the gentleman who has written to appoint an interview, Captain Lantanas politely salutes; and jipi-japa in hand, stands waiting to hear what the haciendado may have to say.
The latter, panting after the effort made in ascending the man-ropes, takes a moment’s time to recover breath. Then, returning the skipper’s bow, he says, interrogatively: —
“Captain Lantanas, I presume?”
“Si, señor,” responds the master of the Condor, with a bow of becoming humility to one reputed so rich. Then adding: “A dispocion de V.”
“Well, captain,” rejoins Don Gregorio, “I shall take it for granted that you know who I am. Don Tomas Silvestre has informed you, has he not?”
“He has, señor.”
“And you received my letter?”
“Si, señor.”
“That’s all right, then. And now to proceed to the business that has brought me aboard your ship. Having seen your advertisement in the Diario, I communicated with Don Tomas; but only so far as to get your correct address, with some trifling particulars. For the rest, I’ve thought it best to deal directly with yourself; as the matter I have in hand is too important to be entrusted to an agent. In short, it requires confidence, if not secrecy, and from what I’ve heard of you, Señor Lantanas, I feel sure I can confide in you.”
“You compliment me, Señor Montijo.”
“No, no; nothing of the kind. I but speak from the account Silvestre has given me of your character. But now to business. Your ship is advertised for freight, or passage?”
“Either, or both.”
“Bound for Valparaiso and intermediate ports?”
“Anywhere down the coast.”
“Have you passengers already engaged?”
“Not any as yet.”
“How many can you take?”
“Well, señor, to speak truth, my craft is not intended to carry passengers. She’s a trading-vessel, as you see. But if you’ll step down to the cabin, you can judge for yourself. There’s a saloon – not very large, it is true – and sleeping accommodation for six – two snug staterooms that will serve, if need be, for ladies.”
“That’ll do. Now about the freight. Don Tomas tells me you have some cargo aboard.”
“A portion of my ship is already occupied.”
“That won’t signify to me. I suppose there’s enough room left for something that weighs less than a ton, and isn’t of any great bulk. Say it will take a score or two of cubic feet. You can find stowage for that?”
“Oh, yes, that and much more.”
“So far good. And you can accommodate three passengers: a gentleman and two ladies? In short, myself and the female members of my family – my daughter and grand-daughter?”
“Will the Señor Montijo step into the Condor’s cabin, and see for himself?”
“By all means.”
Captain Lantanas leads down the stairway, his visitor following.
The saloon is inspected; after it the sleeping-rooms, right and left.
“Just the thing,” says Don Gregorio, speaking as in soliloquy, and evidently satisfied. “It will do admirably,” he adds, addressing himself to the skipper. “And now about terms. What are they to be?”
“That, señor, will depend on what is wanted. To what port do you wish me to take you?”
“Panama. ’Tis one of the ports mentioned in your advertisement?”
“It is, señor.”
“Well, for this freight – as I’ve told you, about a ton, with some trifling household effects – and the three passengers, how much?”
“The terms of freight, as you may be aware, are usually rated according to the class of goods. Is it gold, señor? From your description. I suppose it is.”
The skipper has guessed aright. It is gold, nearly a ton of it, accruing to Don Gregorio from the sale of his land, for which he has been paid in dust and nuggets, at that time the only coin in California – indeed, the only circulating medium, since notes were not to be had.
“Suppose it to be gold,” he answers guardedly, “how much then?”
The ex-ganadero is by no means a niggardly man; still, he would like to have his treasure transported at a rate not exorbitant. And yet he is anxious about its safety; and for this reason has resolved to ship it with secrecy in a private trading-vessel, instead of by one of the regular liners, that have already commenced plying between San Francisco and Panama. He has heard that these are crowded with miners returning home; rough fellows, many of them queer characters – some little better than bandits. He dislikes the idea of trusting his gold among them, and equally his girls, since no other ladies are likely to be going that way. He has full faith in the integrity of Captain Lantanas; knows the Chilian to be a man of gentle heart – in fact, a gentleman. Don Tomas has told him all this.
Under the circumstances, and with such a man, it will not do to drive too hard a bargain; and Don Gregorio, thus reflecting,