the remotest idea. When he enters the town, it is to meet other skippers with ships crewless as his own, and exchange condolences on their common destitution.
On a certain day – that on which we are introduced to him – he has not sculled himself ashore, but abides upon his vessel, awaiting the arrival of one who has sent a message forewarning him of an intended visit.
Although San Francisco is fast becoming transformed into an American city, and already has its half-dozen newspapers, there is among these a small sheet printed in Spanish, by name El Diario. In it Captain Lantanas has advertised his vessel, for freight or passage, bound for Valparaiso, and to call at intermediate ports – Panama among the number. The advertisement directs reference to be made to a shipping-agent, by name Don Tomas Silvestre.
In answer to it, the Chilian has received a letter from a gentleman who had already communicated with the agent, and who has promised to present himself on board the Condor by 12 mid-day of this same day.
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.
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
