Once more upon the _azotea_ stand Carmen Montijo and Inez Alvarez.
It is the morning of the day succeeding that made sacred by their
betrothal. Their eyes are upon the huge warship, that holds the men who
holds their hearts, with promise of their hands--in short, every hope of
their life's happiness.
They could be happy now, but for an apprehension which oppresses them--
causing them keen anxiety. Yesterday, with its scenes of pleasureable
excitement, had also its incidents of the opposite kind; the remembrance
of which too vividly remains, and is not to be got rid of. The
encounter between the gamblers and their lovers cannot end with that
episode, to which they were themselves witness. Something more will
surely come from it.
And what will this something be? What should it? What could it, but a
_desafio_--a duel?
However brave on yester-morn the two senoritas were, or pretended to be,
however regardless of consequences, it is different to-day. The
circumstances have changed. Then, their sweethearts were only suitors.
Now, they are affianced, still standing in the relationship of lovers,
but with ties more firmly, if not more tenderly, united. For are they
not now their own.
Of the two girls, Inez is less anxious than the aunt, having less cause
to be. With the observant intelligence of woman, she has long since
seen that Calderon is a coward, and for this reason has but little
belief he will fight. With instinct equally keen, Carmen knows De Lara
well. After his terrible humiliation, he is not the man to shrink away
out of sight. Blackleg though he be, he possesses courage--perhaps the
only quality he has deserving of admiration. Once, she herself admired
the quality, if not the man! That remembrance itself makes her fear
what may come.
She talks in serious tone, discussing with her niece the probabilities
of what may arise. The delirious joy of yester-eve--of that hour when
she sat in her saddle, looking over the ocean, and listening to the
sweet words of love--is to-day succeeded by depression, almost
despondency.
While conversing, she has her eyes upon the bay, watching the boats
that, at intervals, are rowed off from the warship, fearing to recognise
in one the form of him so dear. Fearing it; for they know that her
lover is not likely to be ashore again, and his coming now could only be
on that errand she, herself, so much dreads--the duel. Duty should
retain him on his, the young officer's, ship, but honour may require him
once more to visit the shore--perhaps never to leave it alive!
Thus gloomily reflects Carmen, imparting her fears to the less
frightened Inez; though she too is not without apprehension. If they
but understood the "Code of Signals," all this misery would be spared
them. Since from the frigate's main-royal masthead floats a blue flag,
with a white square in its centre, which is a portent she will soon
spread her sails, and glide off out of sight--carrying their _amantes_
beyond all danger of duels, or shore-scrapes of any kind.
They observe the "Blue-Peter," but without knowing aught of its
significance. They do not even try to interpret, or think of it; their
thoughts, as their eyes, concentrated upon the boats that pass between
ship and shore.
One at length specially arrests their attention, and keeps it for some
time fixed. A small craft that, leaving the ship, is steered direct for
the town. It passes near enough for them to see there are three men in
it; two of them rowing, the other in the stern--this last in the uniform
of an officer.
Love's glance is keen, and, aided by an opera-glass, it enables Inez
Alvarez to identify the officer in the stern-sheets as Don Gulielmo.
The other two--the oarsmen--are only sailors in blue serge shirts, with
wide collars, falling far back.
For what the young officer is being rowed ashore, the ladies cannot
guess. If for fighting, they know that another, and older, officer,
would be with him. Where is Don Eduardo?
While still conjecturing, the boat glides on towards the town, and is
lost to their view behind some sand-hills inshore.
Their glance going back to the ship, they perceive a change in her
aspect. Her tall tapering masts, with their network of stays and
shrouds, are half-hidden behind broad sheets of canvas. The frigate is
unfurling sail! They are surprised at this, not expecting it so soon.
With the help of their glasses, they observe other movements going on
aboard the war-vessel: signal-flags running up and down their haulyards,
while boats are being hoisted to the davits.
While still watching these manoeuvres, the little craft which carries
the midshipman again appears, shooting out from behind the sand-hills,
and rowed rapidly back to the ship, the young officer still in it.
On reaching the great leviathan, for a short time it shows like a tiny
spot along her water-line; but, soon after, it too is lifted aloft, and
over the bulwark rail.
Ignorant as the young ladies may be of nautical matters, they can have
no doubt as to what all this manoeuvring means. The ship is about to
sail!
As this is an event which interests all the family, Don Gregorio,
summoned to the house-top, soon stands beside them.
"She's going off, sure enough," he says, after sighting through one of
the glasses. "It's rather strange--so abruptly!" he adds. "Our young
friends said nothing about it last night."
"I think they could not have known of it themselves," says Carmen.
"I'm sure they couldn't," adds Inez.
"What makes you sure, _nina_?" asked Don Gregorio.
"Well--because,"--stammers out the Andalusian, a flush starting into her
cheeks--"because they'd have told us. They said they didn't expect to
sail for a day or two, anyhow."
"Just so; but you see they're setting sail now--evidently intending to
take departure. However, I fancy I can explain it. You remember they
spoke of another warship they expected to arrive. Yonder it is! It
came into port last night, and, in all likelihood, has brought orders
for the _Crusader_ to sail at once. I only wish it was the _Condor_! I
sha'n't sleep soundly till we're safe away from--"
"See!" interrupts Carmen; "is not that a sailor coming this way?"
She points to a man, moving along the shore-road in the direction of the
house.
"I think so," responds Don Gregorio, after a glance through the glass.
"He appears to be in seaman's dress."
"Would he be coming here?" inquires Carmen, naively.
"I shouldn't be surprised; probably with a message from our young
friends. It may be the man they recommended to me."
"That's why somebody went ashore in the little boat," whispers Inez to
her aunt. "He's bringing us _billetitas_. I was sure they wouldn't go
away without leaving a last little word."
Inez's speech imparts no information: for Carmen has been surmising in
the same strain.
She replies by one of those proverbs, in which the Spanish tongue is so
rich:
"_Silencio! hay Moros en la costa_,"--(Silence! there are Moors on the
coast).
While this bit of by-play is being carried on, the sailor ascends the
hill, and is seen entering at the road-gate. There can now be no
uncertainty as to his calling. The blue jacket, broad shirt-collar,
round-ribboned hat, and bell-bottomed trousers, are all the unmistakable
toggery of a tar.
Advancing up the avenue in a rolling gait, with an occasional tack from
side to side--that almost fetches him up among the manzanitas--he at
length reaches the front of the house. There stopping, and looking up
to the roof, he salutes those upon it by removing his hat giving a
back-scrape with his foot, and a pluck at one of his brow-locks.
"_Que guieres V., senor_?"--(What is your business, sir?), asks the
haciendado, speaking down to him.
Harry Blew--for it is he--replies by holding out a letter, at the same
time saying:
"Your honour; I've brought this for the master o' the house."
"I am he. Go in through that door you see below. I'll come down to
you."
Don Gregorio descends the _escalera_, and meeting the messenger in the
inner court, receives the letter addressed to him.
Breaking it open, he reads:
"Estimable Sir,--Circumstances have arisen that take us away from San
Francisco sooner than we expected. The corvette that came into port
last night brought orders for the _Crusader_ to sail at once; though
our destination is the same as already known to you--the Sandwich
Islands. As the ship is about to weigh anchor, I have barely time to
write a word for myself, and Mr Cadwallader. We think it proper to
make known some circumstances which will, no doubt, cause you
surprise, as they did ourselves. Yesterday morning we met at your
house two gentlemen--as courtesy would then have required me to call
them--by name Francisco de Lara and Faustino Calderon. We encountered
them at a later hour of the day; when an occurrence took place, which
absolved us from either thinking of them as gentlemen, or treating
them as such. And still later, after leaving your hospitable roof,
we, for the third time, came across the same two individuals, under
circumstances showing them to be _professional gamblers_! In fact, we
found them to be the proprietors of a monte bank in the notorious `El
Dorado;' one of them actually engaged in dealing the cards! A spirit
of fun, with perhaps a spice of mischief, led me into the play, and
betting largely, I succeeded in breaking their bank. After that, for
a short while we lost sight of them. But as we were making our way to
the pier, where our boat was to meet us, we had a fourth interview
with these `gentlemen;' who on this occasion appeared with two others
in the character of _robbers_ and _assassins_! That they did not
succeed in either robbing or murdering us, is due to the brave fellow
who will bear this letter to you--the sailor of whom I spoke. He can
give you all the particulars of the last, and latest, encounter with
the versatile individuals, who claim acquaintance with you. You may
rely on his truthfulness. I have no time to say more.
"Hoping to see you in Cadiz, please convey parting compliments to the
senoritas--from the Senor Cadwallader and yours faithfully, Edward
Crozier."
The letter makes a painful impression on the mind of Don Gregorio. Not
that he is much surprised at the information regarding De Lara and
Calderon. He has heard sinister reports concerning them; of late so
loudly spoken, that he had determined on forbidding them further
intercourse with his family. That very day he has been displeased on
learning of their ill-timed visit. And now he feels chagrin at
something like a reproach conveyed by that expression in Crozier's
letter, "The versatile individuals who claim your acquaintance." It
hurts his hidalgo pride.
Thrusting the epistle into his pocket, he questions its bearer; taking
him into his private room, as also into his confidence.
The sailor gives him a detailed account of the attempt at murder, so
accidentally frustrated; afterwards making known other matters relating
to himself, and how he has taken service on the Chilian ship--Don
Gregorio inquiring particularly about this.
Meanwhile, the young ladies have descended from the azotea, and the
ex-man-o'-war's man makes their acquaintance.
They assist in showing him hospitality, loading him with pretty
presents, and knick-knacks to be carried on board the _Condor_, to which
they know he now belongs.
As he is about to depart, they flutter around him, speaking pleasant
words, as if they expected to get something in return--those
_billetitas_. For all, he takes departure, without leaving them a
scrap!
A pang of disappointment--almost chagrin--shoots through the soul of
Carmen, as she sees him passing out of sight. And similarly afflicted
is Inez; both reflecting alike.
Still they have hope; there may be something enclosed for them in that
letter they saw him holding up. It seemed large enough to contain two
separate notes. And if not these, there should at least be a postscript
with special reference to themselves.
Daughters of Eve, they are not long before approaching the subject, and
drawing Don Gregorio.
Yes; there is something said about them in the letter. He communicates
it:
"_Parting compliments to the senoritas_!"