On parting from the "El Dorado," Crozier and Cadwallader do not go
directly aboard the _Crusader_. They know that their boat will be
awaiting them at the place appointed. But the appointment is for a
later hour; and as the breaking of the Monte bank, with the incidents
attendant, occupied but a short while, there will be time for them to
see a little more of San Francisco life. They have fallen in with
several other young officers, naval like themselves, though not of their
own ship, nor yet their own navy, or nation, but belonging to one
cognate and kindred--Americans. Through the freemasonry of their common
profession, with these they have fraternised, and it is agreed they
shall all sup together. Crozier has invited the Americans to a repast
the most _recherche_, as the costliest, that can be obtained at the
grandest hotel in San Francisco, the _Parker House_. He adds
humorously, that he is able to stand the treat. And well he may; since,
besides the English money with which he entered the "El Dorado," he has
brought thousands of dollars out of it, and would have brought more had
all the ivory cheques been honoured. As it is, his pockets are filled
with notes and gold; as also those of Cadwallader, who helps him to
carry the shining stuff. Part of the heavy metal he has been able to
change into the more portable form of bank-notes. Yet the two are still
heavily weighted--"laden like hucksters' donkeys!" jokingly remarks
Cadwallader, as they proceed towards the _Parker_.
At the hotel a private room is engaged; and, according to promise,
Crozier bespeaks a repast of the most sumptuous kind, with
_carte-blanche_ for the best wines--champagne at three guineas a bottle,
hock the same, and South-side Madeira still more. What difference to
him?
The supper ordered in the double-quick soon makes its appearance.
Sooner in San Francisco than in any other city in the world; in better
style, too, and better worth the money; for the Golden City excels in
the science of gastronomy. Even then, amidst her canvas sheds, and
weather-boarded houses, could be obtained dishes of every kind known to
Christendom, or Pagandom: the _cuisine_ of France, Spain, and Italy; the
roast beef of Old England, as the pork and beans of the New; the _gumbo_
of Guinea, and _sauerkraut_ of Germany, side by side with the
swallow's-nest soup and sea-slugs of China. Had Lucullus but lived in
these days, he would have forsaken the banks of the Tiber, and made
California his home.
The repast furnished by the _Parker House_, however splendid, has to be
speedily despatched; for unfortunately time forbids the leisurely
enjoyment of the viands, to a certain extent marring the pleasure of the
occasion. All the officers, American as English, have to be on their
respective ships at the stroke of twelve.
Reluctantly breaking up their hilarious company, they prepare to depart.
They have forsaken the supper-room, and passed on to the outer saloon of
the hotel; like all such, furnished with a drinking-bar.
Before separating, and while buttoning up against the chill night-air,
Crozier calls out:
"Come, gentlemen; one more glass! The stirrup-cup!"
In San Francisco this is always the wind up to a night of revelry. No
matter how much wine has been quaffed, the carousal is not deemed
complete without a last "valedictory" drink taken standing at the bar.
Giving way to the Californian custom, the officers range themselves
along the marble slab; bending over which, the polite bar-keeper asks:
"What is it to be, gentlemen?"
There is a moment of hesitation, the gentlemen--already well wined--
scarce knowing what to call for. Crozier cuts the Gordian knot by
proposing:
"A round of punches _a la Romaine_!"
Universal assent to this delectable drink; as all know just the thing
for a night-cap.
Soon the cooling beverage, compounded with snow from the Sierra Nevada,
appears upon the counter, in huge glasses, piled high with the sparkling
crystals; a spoon surmounting each--for punch _a la Romaine_ is not to
be drunk, but eaten.
Shovelling it down in haste, adieus are exchanged, with a hearty shake
of hands. Then the American officers go off, leaving Crozier and
Cadwallader in the saloon; these only staying to settle the account.
While standing by the bar, waiting for it to be brought, they cast a
glance around the room. At first careless, it soon becomes concentrated
on a group seen at some distance off, near one of the doors leading out,
of which there are several. There are also several other groups; for
the saloon is of large dimensions, besides being the most popular place
of resort in San Francisco. And for San Francisco the hour is not yet
late. Along the line of the drinking-bar, and over the white-sanded
floor, are some scores of people of all qualities and kinds, in almost
every variety of costume; though they who compose the party that has
attracted the attention of the English officers show nothing
particular--that is, to the eye of one unacquainted with them. There
are four of them, two wearing broadcloth cloaks, the other two having
their shoulders shrouded under _serapes_. Nothing in all that. The
night is cold, indeed wet, and they are close to the door, to all
appearance intending soon to step out. They have only paused to
exchange a parting word, as if they designed to separate before issuing
into the street.
Though the spot where they stand is in shadow--a folding screen
separating it from the rest of the saloon--and it is not easy to get
sight of their faces--the difficulty increased by broad-brimmed hats set
slouchingly on their heads, with their cloaks and serapes drawn up
around their throats--Crozier and Cadwallader have not only seen, but
recognised them. A glance at their countenances, caught before the
muffling was made, enabled the young officers to identify three of them
as De Lara, Calderon, and the _ci-devant_ croupier of the Monte bank.
The fourth, whose face they have also seen, is a personage not known to
them; but, judging by his features, a suitable associate for the other
three.
Soon as catching sight of them, which he is the first to do, Crozier
whispers to his companion:
"See, Will! Look yonder! Our friends from the `El Dorado!'"
"By Jove! them, sure enough. Do you think they've been following us?"
"I shouldn't wonder. I was only surprised they didn't do something,
when they had us in their gambling den. After the heavy draw I made on
Mr Lara's bank, I expected no less than that he'd try to renew his
acquaintance with me; all the more from his having been so free of it in
the morning. Instead, he and his friend seemed to studiously avoid
coming near us--not even casting a look in our direction. That rather
puzzled me."
"It needn't. After what you gave him, I should think he'll feel shy of
another encounter."
"No; that's not it. Blackleg though the fellow be, he's got game in
him. He gave proof of it in the `El Dorado,' defying, and backing
everybody out. It was an exhibition of real courage, Will; and, to tell
the truth, I couldn't help admiring it--can't now. When I saw him
presiding over the gambling table, and dealing out the cards, I at once
made up my mind that it would never do to meet him--even if he
challenged me. Now, I've decided differently; and if he call me out,
I'll give him a chance to recover a little of his lost reputation. I
will, upon my honour."
"But why should you? A `sport,' a professional gambler! The thing
would be simply ridiculous."
"Nothing of the kind--not here in California. On the contrary, I should
cut a more ridiculous figure by refusing him satisfaction. It remains
to be seen whether he'll seek it according to the correct code."
"That he won't; at least, I don't think he will. From the way that lot
have got their heads together, it looks as if they meant mischief,
_now_. They may have been watching their opportunity--to get us two
alone. What a pity we didn't see them before our friends went off!
They're good fellows, those Yankee officers, and would have stood by
us."
"No doubt they would. But it's too late now. They're beyond hailing
distance, and we must take care of ourselves. Get your dirk ready,
Will, and have your hand close to the butt of that shooting-iron, you
took from Mr De Lara."
"I have it that way. Never fear. Wouldn't it be a good joke if I have
to give the fellow a pill out of his own pistol?"
"No joking matter to us, if they're meditating an attack. Though we
disarmed him in the morning, he'll be freshly provided, and with weapons
in plenty. I'll warrant each of the four has a battery concealed under
his cloak. They appear as if concocting some scheme--which we'll soon
know all about--likely before leaving the house. Certainly, they're up
to something."
"Four hundred and ninety dollars, gentlemen!"
The financial statement is made by the office clerk presenting the bill.
"There!" cries Crozier, flinging down a five hundred dollar bill. "Let
that settle it. You can keep the change for yourself."
"Thank ye," dryly responds the Californian dispenser of drinks, taking
the ten dollar tip with less show of gratitude than a London waiter
would give for a fourpenny piece--little as that may be.
Turning to take departure, the young officers again look across the
saloon, to learn how the hostile party has disposed itself. To their
surprise, the gamblers are gone; having disappeared while the account
was being paid.
"I don't like the look of it," says Crozier, in a whisper. "Less now
than ever. No doubt we'll find them outside. Well; we can't stay here
all night. If they attack us, we must do our best. Take a firm grip of
your pistol, with your finger close to the trigger; and if any of them
shows sign of shooting, see that you fire first. Follow me; and keep
close!"
On the instant of delivering these injunctions, he starts towards the
door, Cadwallader following as directed.
Both step out, and for a short while stand gazing interrogatively around
them. People they see in numbers, some lounging by the hotel porch,
others passing along the street. But none in cloaks or _serapes_. The
gamblers must have gone clear away.
"After all, we may have been wronging them," remarks Urozier, as in his
nature, giving way to a generous impulse. "I can hardly think that a
fellow who's shown such courage would play the assassin. Maybe they
were but putting their heads together about challenging us? If that's
it, we may expect to hear from them in the morning. It looks all right.
Anyhow, we can't stay dallying here. If we're not aboard by eight
bells, old Bracebridge 'll masthead us. Let's heave along, my hearty!"
So saying, he leads off, Cadwallader close on his quarter--both a little
unsteady in their steps, partly from being loaded with the spoils of "El
Dorado," and partly from the effects of the _Parker House_ wines, and
punches _a la Romaine_.