It was the 4th of August, 1854, off Cape1 Corrientes. Morning was breaking over a heavy sea, and the closely-reefed topsails of a barque that ran before it bearing down upon the faint outline of the Mexican coast. Already the white peak of Colima showed, ghost-like, in the east; already the long sweep of the Pacific was gathering2 strength and volume as it swept uninterruptedly into the opening Gulf3 of California.
As the cold light increased, it could be seen that the vessel4 showed evidence of a long voyage and stress of weather. She had lost one of her spars, and her starboard davits rolled emptily. Nevertheless, her rigging was taut5 and ship-shape, and her decks scrupulously6 clean. Indeed, in that uncertain light, the only moving figure besides the two motionless shadows at the wheel was engaged in scrubbing the quarter-deck—which, with its grated settees and stacked camp-chairs, seemed to indicate the presence of cabin passengers. For the barque Excelsior, from New York to San Francisco, had discharged the bulk of her cargo8 at Callao, and had extended her liberal cabin accommodation to swell9 the feverish10 Californian immigration, still in its height.
Suddenly there was a slight commotion11 on deck. An order, issued from some invisible depth of the cabin, was so unexpected that it had to be repeated sternly and peremptorily12. A bustle13 forward ensued, two or three other shadows sprang up by the bulwarks14, then the two men bent15 over the wheel, the Excelsior slowly swung round on her heel, and, with a parting salutation to the coast, bore away to the northwest and the open sea again.
"What's up now?" growled17 one of the men at the wheel to his companion, as they slowly eased up on the helm.
"'Tain't the skipper's, for he's drunk as a biled owl16, and ain't stirred out of his bunk18 since eight bells," said the other. "It's the first mate's orders; but, I reckon, it's the Senor's idea."
"Then we ain't goin' on to Mazatlan?"
"Not this trip, I reckon," said the third mate, joining them.
"Why?"
The third mate turned and pointed19 to leeward20. The line of coast had already sunk enough to permit the faint silhouette21 of a trail of smoke to define the horizon line of sky.
"Steamer goin' in, eh?"
"Yes. D'ye see—it might be too hot, in there!"
"Then the jig's up?"
"No. Suthin's to be done—north of St. Lucas. Hush22!"
He made a gesture of silence, although the conversation, since he had joined them, had been carried on in a continuous whisper. A figure, evidently a passenger, had appeared on deck. One or two of the foreign-looking crew who had drawn23 near the group, with a certain undue24 and irregular familiarity, now slunk away again.
The passenger was a shrewd, exact, rectangular-looking man, who had evidently never entirely25 succumbed26 to the freedom of the sea either in his appearance or habits. He had not even his sea legs yet; and as the barque, with the full swell of the Pacific now on her weather bow, was plunging27 uncomfortably, he was fain to cling to the stanchions. This did not, however, prevent him from noticing the change in her position, and captiously28 resenting it.
"Look here—you; I say! What have we turned round for? We're going away from the land! Ain't we going on to Mazatlan?"
The two men at the wheel looked silently forward, with that exasperating29 unconcern of any landsman's interest peculiar30 to marine31 officials. The passenger turned impatiently to the third mate.
"But this ain't right, you know. It was understood that we were going into Mazatlan. I've got business there."
"My orders, sir," said the mate curtly32, turning away.
The practical passenger had been observant enough of sea-going rules to recognize that this reason was final, and that it was equally futile33 to demand an interview with the captain when that gentleman was not visibly on duty. He turned angrily to the cabin again.
"You look disturbed, my dear Banks. I trust you haven't slept badly," said a very gentle voice from the quarter-rail near him; "or, perhaps, the ship's going about has upset you. It's a little rougher on this tack7."
"That's just it," returned Banks sharply. "We HAVE gone about, and we're not going into Mazatlan at all. It's scandalous! I'll speak to the captain—I'll complain to the consignees—I've got business at Mazatlan—I expect letters—I"—
"Business, my dear fellow?" continued the voice, in gentle protest. "You'll have time for business when you get to San Francisco. And as for letters—they'll follow you there soon enough. Come over here, my boy, and say hail and farewell to the Mexican coast—to the land of Montezuma and Pizarro. Come here and see the mountain range from which Balboa feasted his eyes on the broad Pacific. Come!"
The speaker, though apparently34 more at his ease at sea, was in dress and appearance fully35 as unnautical as Banks. As he leaned over the railing, his white, close-fitting trousers and small patent-leather boots gave him a jaunty36, half-military air, which continued up to the second button of his black frock-coat, and then so utterly37 changed its character that it was doubtful if a greater contrast could be conceived than that offered by the widely spread lapels of his coat, his low turned-down collar, loosely knotted silk handkerchief, and the round, smooth-shaven, gentle, pacific face above them. His straight long black hair, shining as if from recent immersion38, was tucked carefully behind his ears, and hung in a heavy, even, semicircular fringe around the back of his neck where his tall hat usually rested, as if to leave his forehead meekly39 exposed to celestial40 criticism. When he had joined the ship at Callao, his fellow-passengers, rashly trusting to the momentary41 suggestion of his legs on the gang-plank, had pronounced him military; meeting him later at dinner, they had regarded the mild Methodistic contour of his breast and shoulders above the table, and entertained the wild idea of asking him to evoke42 a blessing43. To complete the confusion of his appearance, he was called "Senor" Perkins, for no other reason, apparently, than his occasional, but masterful, use of the Spanish vernacular44.
Steadying himself by one of the quarter stanchions, he waved his right hand oratorically towards the sinking coast.
"Look at it, sir. One of the finest countries that ever came from the hand of the Creator; a land overflowing45 with milk and honey; containing, sir, in that one mountain range, the products of the three zones—and yet the abode46 of the oppressed and down-trodden; the land of faction47, superstition48, tyranny, and political revolution."
"That's all very well," said Banks irritably49, "but Mazatlan is a well-known commercial port, and has English and American correspondents. There's a branch of that Boston firm—Potter, Potts & Potter—there. The new line of steamers is going to stop there regularly."
Senor Perkins' soft black eyes fell for an instant, as if accidentally, on the third mate, but the next moment he laughed, and, throwing back his head, inhaled50, with evident relish51, a long breath of the sharp, salt air.
"Ah!" he said enthusiastically, "THAT'S better than all the business you can pick up along a malarious52 coast. Open your mouth and try to take in the free breath of the glorious North Pacific. Ah! isn't it glorious?"
"Where's the captain?" said Banks, with despairing irritation53. "I want to see him."
"The captain," said Senor Perkins, with a bland54, forgiving smile and a slight lowering of his voice, "is, I fear, suffering from an accident of hospitality, and keeps his state-room. The captain is a good fellow," continued Perkins, with gentle enthusiasm; "a good sailor and careful navigator, and exceedingly attentive55 to his passengers. I shall certainly propose getting up some testimonial for him."
"But if he's shut up in his state-room, who's giving the orders?" began Banks angrily.
Senor Perkins put up a small, well-kept hand deprecatingly.
"Really, my dear boy, I suppose the captain cannot be omnipresent. Some discretion56 must be left to the other officers. They probably know his ideas and what is to be done better than we do. You business men trouble yourselves too much about these things. You should take them more philosophically57. For my part I always confide58 myself trustingly to these people. I enter a ship or railroad car with perfect faith. I say to myself, 'This captain, or this conductor, is a responsible man, selected with a view to my safety and comfort; he understands how to procure59 that safety and that comfort better than I do. He worries himself; he spends hours and nights of vigil to look after me and carry me to my destination. Why should I worry myself, who can only assist him by passive obedience60? Why'—" But here he was interrupted by a headlong plunge61 of the Excelsior, a feminine shriek62 that was half a laugh, the rapid patter of small feet and sweep of flying skirts down the slanting63 deck, and the sudden and violent ............