Beadle's New York Dime Library, No. 66 — page 22: what you’re looking at

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22 affection, only a fancy long ago out of my mind. The question is, how she’s to be got out of the a And I'd give something to get an answer to t. , “Tf that’s all, you needn’t be at any expense, ex- cept what you may tip to old Grunnet. You say he hadn’t completed the portrait of your Chilena. That's plain enough, looking at the shortness of the skirt. Now let him go on and lengthen them a lit- tle. Then finish by ay | the Spanish flag over her head, and under her feet the initials ‘I. A.’ With that on your arm, you may safely show it at Cadiz; and instead of go pete ag ou’ll get kisses.”’ “A splendid idea! e very thing! Ill have it as Pe: say. This very day I'll set Grunnet to work, an eae ‘*Land, ho!” The conversation between the young officers is interrupted. The look-out at the Crusader’s mast- head has sighted Mauma Koa. CHAPTER XLV. A CREW THAT MEANS MUTINY. A SHIP ee down the Pacific, on the line of longitude 125° W. echnically speaking, not a ship, but a barque, as may be told by her mizzen-sails set fore and aft. Of all craft encountered on the ocean there is none in beauty to compare with the barque. Just as the name is graceful on the pea? of poetry and romance, so is the reality itself on the surface of the sea, The sight is simply perfection. About the vessel in question another peculiarity is observable. Her masts are of the kind called Polac- ca—in one piece from step to truck. Such are common enough in the Mediterranean, and not rare in Spanish American ports, They a be seen at Monte Video, Buenos Ayres, and aip araiso, to which last this barque belongs. For she is Chilian-built; her masts made of trees taken from the ancient forests of Araucania, Lettered along her stern is the name EL CONDOR, and she is the craft commanded by Captain Lau- nas. In the harbor of San Francisco the Condor was a ship. How can she now be a barque? The answer is easy, as has been the transforma- tion; while the reason is readily given, For the working of her sails, a barque requires fewer hands than a ship. Finding himself with a short crew, Captain Lautanas resorted to a stratagem not un- common in such cases, and converted his vessel ac- ore The conversion was effected before leaving San Francisco; so that the Condor, enter- ing the Golden Gate a ship, stood out of it a barque. As this, she is now on the ocean sailing southward along the line of longitude, 125 deg. W. Taking the usual track of ne ee between San Francisco and the Isthmus, she has first made westing to get well clear of the coast and catch the r wind that centuries ago wafted the spice- laden Spanish galleons from the Philippines to Aca- pulco. A steamer from the Isthmus would hug the shore, keeping the brown, barren mountains of Low- er California in view. Ins the Condor has run wide away from the land, and in all probability will not again sight it before beginning to beat up for the wey of Panama. is middle watch of the — Eight bells have sounded and the first mate taken charge; the second having turned in along with the division of crew allotted to him, The sea is tranquil, the breeze light, blowing from the desired quarter, so that there is nothing to call for any unusual vigilance. True, the night is dark, but without portent of storm. Itis, as Harry Blew knows, only a thick rain-cloud, such as often shad- ows this part of the Pacific. But the darkness need not bedreaded. They are too low in latitude to en- counter icebergs, and upon the wide waters of the South Sea there is not much danger of collision by ships. Notwithstandin this reason for security, the first mate of the Condor paces his deck with a brow clouded as the sky over his head; while the glance of his eye pet so anxiety, almost anguish; as if some thought was epost him. It can not be any fear of storm or tempest. He does not regard the sky, nor the sea, nor the sails. On the contrary, he moves about the deck, not as one having command of the vessel, but stealthily, now and then standing in crouched attitude under the shadow of her masts, bulwarks, and boats. He appears not to occupy himself about the elements, nor yet with the sails of the ship, but to be playing spy upon the men intrusted with the working o them. For what he is doing he has reason. song before leaving San Francisco he has discovered the inca- pacity of the crew—a bad lot it could be seen at first sight, rough, ribald and drunken. In all there are eleven of them, the second mate included, as already stated, a Spaniard by name, Padillo. There are three others of this nationality, Span- iards or ace aaa Gil Gomez, Jose Fer- nandez and Jacinto Velarde; two Engishmen are entered on the books as Jack Striker and Bill Davis; a Frenchman, a Dutchman and a Dane; the other two men are of sailor type, but doubtful nationality, such as are met on every ship that sails the sea. The first mate of the Condor, accustomed to man- o’-war discipline, is ee yee by the absence of it on board the merchant ship. This is his reflection before leaving San Francisco Bay. Along with it, some anxiety about the working of the ship. With a crew so incapable there must be difficulty, and a8 be danger. ow that he is out upon the open ocean, the feel- ing is different, as also the danger dreaded. Ob- serving their insubordination, he fears there may be mutiny. All the more,from having by this time become acquainted with the character of Captain Lautanas. A fair enough seaman, after a fashion, scientific, with a taste for natural history and col- lecting curiosities (proof of this in the two great Bornean apes, with many other gr cked up during his ao trip to the Indian Archipela- go), but, of all men, the most unfitted to control a vow such as that now shipped for the voyage to Besides being insolent and reluctantly obedient, Harry Blew has observed them at times gathered in groups, as if plotting some capital crime. What it is he can not tell; nor yet the cause of their conspiring. They are well fed, indulged in extra rations of both grub and grog. No rough work has yet been required of them—nothing done to wound the sensibility or excite the ire of a sailor. For all that they look scowling and discontented; as if a slight slur, even a hard word, would make mutiny among them. What can it mean? What do they want? A score of times has Harry Blew asked himself this question, without getting any satisfactory an- swer. It is to obtain this he is now skulking around the decks, here and there, standing in shadows. He has hopes of overhearing some conversation that re give him a clew to the conspiracy—if conspiracy t be He is not disappointed. A chance circumstance provides against this. He is standing in the ship’s waist undera piece of sail- cloth, spread horizontally from the rail to the top of the round-house. It has been rigged up as a sun-screen for the carpenter doing some work dur- ng ihe day, and is so left. the sky is pitch black and starless, with this additional shadow, Harry Blew stands in obscurity impenetrable to the eye. A man passing within six feet could not see him. He is not seen by two men, who, sauntering about like himself, have stepped in under the shadow of the canvas. Unlike him they are not silent but con- versing—though in a low tone, loud enough for him to hear every word. And to every one he listens with interest so engrossing, that his breath seems pg ge Standing fixed and invisible, could either f the men see him, ad re, suppose him a statue or bollard head, stanchioned in the deck. He understands what is said all the easier, as they talk in his own native tongue, For they who con- verse are Jack Striker and Bill Davis. ng before their dialogue reaches its termination, it not only gives him an insight into what has been hitherto mystifying him, but something that sets his hair on end, and causes the blood to curdle in his veins. CHAPTER XLVI. “SYDNEY DUCKS.” JAcK Striker and Bill Davis are two Sydney ducks, yee have done service in the chain-gangs of Aus- ralia. They have also served as sailors, their original calling. Since a certain voyage to the Swan river settlement, in which they were only passengers, sent out at the expense of H. B. Majesty’s Govern- ment, they have been rather inclined to cut the sea, and only take to it now and then, by way of work- ing passage from place to place. caping from a colonization forced upon them and altogether uncongenial, they have found their way first to Sydney and afterward toSan Francisco. Thence they have n up the Sacramento, taken a spell at gol “digging with but slight success, and not li the hard labor of pick, pan and cradle, have returned to the Queen City of the Pacific. Loafering among low sailors’ haunts, they have had the pleasant surprise in meeting a man who offered them ten thousand dollars each to ship in a mer- chant vessel, bound for the port of Panama, A wage so disproportioned to the service asked for, of course calls for explanation, which the princely con- tractor gives after gaining their confidence. It proves satisfactory to the ci-devant convicts, and without further question they enter into a contract, which carries them aboard the Condor, this being the ship that is to pay sailors $10,000 for the “short trip to Panama.’’ He who has thus extrava- ox tly engaged them is not owner of the ship, nor is e her skipper, or orien geek We but a man who repre- sents himself authorized to accept their services In a different way; and he also promises the pay in a eculiar manner, made known to them before settin oot aboard ro te and Jack Striker and Bill Davis know with a full understanding sufficient if honest tars to make them refuse the high wages coupled with their conditions. But they are not honest tars, and accept both ¢con- dition and wages, without scruple or cavil. Since coming aboard the Condor, and mixing with others of her crew, they have got some additional insight into the character of the compact and the service required of them. They find that several of their shipmates—in fact nearly all the crew—have been engaged in a similar-way and for a like bounte- ous wage. At first all are a little in wonder, but on comparing notes, and mutually comparing their re- spective scraps of information, adding also their surmises, they arrive at a pretty accurate knowledge ee why they have been engaged to work the Chilian Striker, who has seen more of the world, and is an older sinner than Davis, has got a better idea of how things are, and it is for the purpose of communica- ting his superior knowledge to his old chum of the chain-gang he has asked him to step under the ee By chance cast pcg in the middle-watch, an opportunity offers which the elder convict has been looking out for. Davis, of more talkative habit, is the first to speak as soon as under the shadow. “Well, old pal. What do you think of our present employ ? Better than breakin’ stone for them Swan river roads, with twent pounds 0’ iron chain clinkin’ at a fella’s feet, ain’t it?’ ‘ ‘ Better’n that, yes; but not’s good as it mout oe.” “Tut, man; you’re always grumblin’. Ten thou- sand dollars for a trip that isn’t likely to run over a fortnight, or three weeks at most. If that don’t content you, I'd like to know what would.” “Well, mate, I'll tell ’ee what would. Thirty thousand for the trip; and Jack Striker ain’t likely to be satisfied wi’ anything short o’ it.” ** You're joking, Jack.” **No ITain’t, Bill. As you knows, I’m not of the jokin’ sort, and now means wot Isay. Both me an’ ou oughter geet thirty thousand apiece o’ this yel- er stuff—that at the very least.” ** Why, there wouldn't be enuff to go round the lot that’s in.” “Yes, there w'u’d an’ will. Old as I’m, I hain’t uite lost hearin’. My yeers are as sharp as iver they wor, an’ jess as reliable. Larst night I heerd a whisper — atween two o’ them Spanish chaps that’s put me up to somethin’.” The Specter Barque. a3 “What did you hear?” ‘* That the owas totes up to the full 0’ $300,000.”" ae on devil it does! I didn’t know it was half that much.” “Ye know’t now; an’ knowin’ it, do ’ee think, Bill Davis, we oughter be such domned fools as to take lesser’n share an’ share alike? We can git it as ent Po the otherif we stan’ togither an’ stick out or it. “ Theer’s somethink in what you say.” ““Theer’s everythin’. Besides, it’s our rights. Weer riskin’ our necks ina rope same’sthem. If we make a snucker o’ the job it'll be a hangin’ mat- ter; sure as I speek theer’s got to be sum blood spilt afore all’s finished.”’ “What would you advise? You know, Jack, I'll stand b vers whatever you’re inclined for.” ** Well, I’m inclined for a fair divide all roun’. I don’t see why the four Spanish chaps sh’u'd get a dollar more’n us others. Two o’ them’s got the’r eyes on the women. It’s eezy to see that’s theer game. Besides, I heerd them talkin’, Gomoz are arter the light gurl, and Fernandez wants the dark *un. Well, they can have ‘em fur all’s I care. But that are good reezon why they oughtn’t be greedy *bout the stuff. “war Gomez as engaged us, an’ plain he’s the he’d man 0’ the lot, though the second mate ’s in along wi' them, too. 1 overhear’ a confab atween they two, Gomez tellin’ t’other there were full $300,000 valley o’ dust lyin’ snug in the cabin lockers. An’ as theer’s eleven 0’ us to share, it ud be nigh on $30,000 apiece, if my ‘rithmetic it a out o’ reck’nin’. Bill Davis, we must go in for rights.” SAS you amr? Jack, it is our rights. No doubt er that, only there may be some difficulty in gettin’ em.”’ “Not a bit—not a bit, if we stan’ up for ‘em. There be four Spanish fellows as mean to go snacks *mong themselves. But theer be six o’ us outsiders, an’ when the others get wind o’ what I've told ye, they'll be all on our side, if they ar’n’t fools.” “They won’t be that, I take it. A difference of twenty thousand dollars in their favor will make ’em sensible for the time. But what's to be the up- shot, or, as they call it on the play-bills of the theay- ters, what’s our programme?’ : Well, mate, sofar as I’ve been put up to ‘t, we’re to run on till we get down the coast somewhere near the Is’mus of Panyma. Theer we’ll sight land; an’ soon as we do, the ship’s to be scuttled, we first se- curin’ the swag an’ takin’ it ashore in one o’ the boats. We're to land in on some part of the coast that’s known to Gomez he says. Then we're to make to one o’ the towns, when we've got thin straight for puttin’ in a Reerance in an explainable way. Otherwise we might get pulled up, and then all our trouble ’u’d be for nou’t. Worse; every one o’ us ’u’d ha’a good chance to swing for it.” “The two gurls?” “They’re to be took along. How the chaps mean to manage it Jack Striker can’t tell ye. They'll be a trouble, no doubt, as wimmen always is, an’ in m idea it’s folly to be hampered wi’ ’em. More’n that, it’s durned dangersome, They may git us all into a scrape. However, I s’pose we must submit to it. The two fellows SprOar to be ragin’ mad about ’em; an’ by lettin’ em have their way they'll have less to say tl a fair divide 0’ the dollars.” * What's to be done with the others—the old Span- as “pe skipper, with the black cook and the first mate?’ ‘*Theer to be sent down in the ship. The inten- tionis to knock ’em on the head soon’s we come in sight o’ land.” ‘Well, Jack, for the first three I don’t care a tinker’s d—n. They ’re foreigners and blacks, there- fore nothin’ to us. But Blew’s a sort of a country- man. I'd rather we could let him go,”’ ‘* Balderdash, Bill Davis! What have we got to do with feelin’s 0’ that sort? Countryman, indeed! A pretty country as starves ten millions o’ the likes o’ me an’ you; an’ if we try to take what by nateral right be ours, sends us out o’ it wi’ chains on our wrists and ankles. All stuff and psalm-singin’, that about your own country and a fella-countryman, If we let him go, he'd be sure to tell tales, an’ we might meet him somewhere when we weren't wantin’. He's gore go, but it must be wi’ the t’other three—to the ottom o’ the sea.” “Maybe you’re right, Striker, and on second thought I don’t care a dump what’s done wi’ him more'n any of the others. But what’s the use of keepin’ the thing back? And why should we wait till we get down there? If the yellow stuff’s lyin’ ready why can’t it be grabbed at once, and then we can talk about how it’s to be divided? Sure, there “°Tain e takin’ o’ it. et’ e work, an we'll have it all our way. We could tons the four overboard in the aeipein oa flea. But, then, how’s the ship to be navygated?”’ ** We don’t want the skipper for that, nor the first mate eyther. Surely we can do without them.” * That’s jest what we want. O’ all our crew there’s only them two as has the knowledge o’ charts an’ chronometers an’ the like, for him as is acting sec- ond mate confesses he don’t know nothin' ‘bout sich. Therefore, though we’re in a good, soun’ craft, without them we’d be most as good as help- less. We're now out on the biggest of all the oceans, an’ if we stood on the Wrong. ck, we might never badge ta o’ land, or only to be cast away on some erous shore, or, what ‘ud be bad as eyther, get overhauled by some man-0’-war, and not able to ’e account o’ ourselves, There’s the diffyculty, on’t ’ee see? So they’s konkluded to let things stan’ till we run down nigh to Panyma. Theer we'll night up by scuttlin’ the ship an’ goin’ ashore in the Well, I suppose that'll be the best after all. When a cove’s got money it don’t make much differ- ence where he sets his foot on shore; and I suppose there’s sport to be had down in Panyma, same as other places.” “Theer ye be right, Bill. When a man’s got money there’s pleasurin’ everywhere; an’ he as hasn’t none can’t git it nowhere. Gold is the only mn ag cata pal, with th ell, 0 wi € prospect of such big plun- der, we can afford to be patient. és = ““T ain’t a-goin’ to be patient for the $10,000. No, Bill Davis; neyther ought you. We've equal rights wi’ the rest, an’ we must ageetate till we get ’em.” Eomicbooks (E(0)