The _Condor_ is sailing barge, with a light breeze several points abaft
the beam.
Jack Striker is at the wheel; and as the sea is smooth he finds it easy
steering, having little to do but keep the barque steady by taking an
occasional squint at the compass-card.
The moon--which has just risen--shining in his face, shows it to be that
of a man over fifty, with the felon in its every line and lineament. It
is beardless, pock-pitted, with thick shapeless lips, broad hanging
jowls, nostrils agape, and nose flattened like the snout of a bull-dog.
Eyes gosling-green, both bleary, one of them bloodshot. For all, eyes
that, by his own boast, "can see into a millstone as far as the man who
picks it."
He has not been many minutes at his post when he sees some one
approaching from the waist of the ship; a man, whom he makes out to be
the first mate.
"Comin' to con me," growls the ex-convict. "Don't want any o' his
connin', not I. Jack Striker can keep a ship on her course well's him,
or any other board o' this craft."
He is on the starboard side of the wheel, while the mate is approaching
along the port gangway. The latter, after springing up to the
poop-deck, stops opposite the steersman, as he does so, saying:
"Well, Striker, old chap! not much trouble with her to-night. She's
going free too, with the wind in the right quarter. We ought to be
making good nine knots?"
"All o' that, I daresay, sir," rejoins Striker, mollified by the affable
manner in which the first officer has addressed him. "The barque ain't
a bad 'un to go, though she be a queery-rigged craft's ever I war aboard
on."
"You've set foot on a goodish many, I should say, judgin' from the way
ye handle a helm. I see you understan' steerin' a ship."
"I oughter, master," answers the helmsman, further flattered by the
compliment to his professional skill. "Jack Striker's had a fair show
o' schoolin' to that bizness."
"Been a man-o'-war's man, hain't you?"
"Ay, all o' that. Any as doubts it can see the warrant on my back, an'
welcome to do so. Plenty o' the cat's claws there, an' I don't care a
brass fardin' who knows it."
"Neyther need ye. Many a good sailor can show the same. For myself, I
hain't had the cat, but I've seed a man-o'-war sarvice, an' some
roughish treatment too. An' I've seed sarvice on ships man-o'-war's men
have chased--likin' that sort a little better; I did."
"Indeed!" exclaims the ex-convict, turning his eyes with increased
interest on the man thus frankly confessing himself. "Smuggler? Or
maybe slaver?"
"Little bit o' both. An' as you say 'bout the cat, _I_ don't care a
brass fardin' who knows o' it. It's been a hardish world wi' me; plenty
o' ups an' downs; the downs oftener than the ups, Just now things are
lookin' sort o' uppish. I've got my berth here 'count o' the scarcity
o' hands in San Francisco, an' the luck o' knowin' how to take sights
an' keep a log. Still the pay an't much considerin' the chances left
behind. I daresay I'd 'a done a deal better by stayin' in Californey,
an' goin' on to them gold-diggin's up in the Sacramenta mountains."
"You han't been theer, han't ye?"
"No. Never went a cable's length ayont the town o' Francisco."
"Maybe, jest as well ye didn't, Master Blew. Me an' Bill Davis tried
that dodge; we went all the way to the washin's on Feather River; but
foun' no gold, only plenty o' hard work, wi' precious little to eat, an'
less in the way o' drink. Neyther o' us likin' the life, we put back
for the port."
For all his frankness in confessing to the cat-o'-nine tails on board a
warship, Striker says nothing about a rope of a different kind he and
his chum Davis were very near getting around their necks on the banks of
that same Feather River, and from which they escaped by a timely retreat
upon "'Frisco."
"Well," rejoins Blew, in a tone of resignation; "as you say, maybe I've
did the wisest thing after all, in not goin' that way. I might 'a come
back empty-handed, same as yerself an' Davis. Ye say liquor war scarce
up there. That 'ud never 'a done for me. I must have my reg'lar
allowance, or--. Well, no use sayin' what. As an old man-o'-war's man
you can can understan' me, Striker. An' as the same, I suppose you
won't object to a tot now?"
"Two, for that matter," promptly responds Striker, like all his sort--
drouthy.
"Well; here's a drop o' rum--the best Santa Cruz. Help yourself!"
Blew presents a black-jack bottle to the helmsman, who, detaching one
hand from the spokes, takes hold of the bottle. Then, raising it to his
lips, and keeping it there for a prolonged spell, returns it to its
owner, who, for the sake of sociability, takes a pull himself. All this
done, the dialogue is renewed, and progresses in even a more friendly
way than before; the Santa Cruz having opened the heart of the Sydney
Duck to a degree of familiarity; while, on his side, the mate, throwing
aside all reserve, lets himself down to a level with the foremast-man.
It ends in their establishing a confidence, mutual and complete, of that
character known as "thickness between thieves."
Blew first strikes the chord that puts their spirits _en rapport_, by
saying:
"Ye tell me, Striker, that ye've had hard times an' some severe
punishment. So's had Harry Blew. An' ye say ye don't care about that.
No more cares he. In that we're both o' us in the same boat. An' now
we're in the same ship--you a sailor afore the mast, I first officer--
but for all the difference in our rank, we can work thegether. An'
there's a way we can both o' us do better. Do you want me to tell it
ye?"
"Ay, ay; tell it. Jack Striker's ears are allus open to 'ear 'ow he can
better his sittivation in life. I'm a listener."
"All right. I've observed you're a good hand at the helm. Would ye be
as good to go in for a job that'll put a pile o' money in your pocket?"
"That depends. Not on what sort o' job; I don't mean that. But what's
the figger--the 'mount o' the money--how much?"
"Puttin' it in gold, as much as you can carry; ay, enough to make you
stagger under it."
"An' you ask if I'm good for a job like that? Funny question to ask--it
are; 'specially puttin' it to ole Jack Striker. He's good for't--wi'
the gallows starin' him full in the face. Danged if he an't!"
"Well; I thought you wouldn't be the one to show basket-faced 'bout it.
It's a big thing I hev on hand, an' there'll be a fortin' for all who go
in for it."
"Show Jack Striker the chance o' goin' in, an' he'll show you a man as
knows no backin' out."
"Enough, shipmate. The chance is close to hand; aboard o' this ship.
Below, in her cabin-lockers, there's stowed somethin' like half a ton o'
glitterin' gold-dust. It belongs to the old Spaniard that's passenger.
What's to hinder us to lay hands on it? If we can only get enough o'
the crew to say _yes_, there needs be no difficulty. Them as won't 'll
have to stan' aside. Though, from what I see o' them, it's like they'll
all come in. Divided square round, there'd be atween twenty an' thirty
thousand dollars apiece. Do that tempt ye. Striker?"
"Rayther. Wi' thirty thousand dollars I'd ne'er do another stroke o'
work."
"You needn't then. You can have all o' that, by joinin' in, an' helpin'
me to bring round the rest. Do you know any o' them ye could speak to
'bout the bizness--wi' safety, I mean?"
"I do. Two or three. One sartin'; my ole chum, Bill Davis. He can be
trusted wi' a secret o' throat-cuttin', let alone a trifle such as you
speak o'. An' now, Master Blew, since you've seen fit to confide in me,
I'm goin' to gi'e ye a bit o' my confidince. It's but fair 'tween two
men as hev got to understan' one the tother. I may as well tell ye that
I know all about the stuff in the cabin-lockers--hev knowed it iver
since settin' fut in the _Condor's_ forc's'l. Me an' Bill war talkin'
o't jist afore I coomed to the wheel. You an't the only one as hez set
theer hearts on hevin' it. Them Spanish chaps hez got it all arranged
arready--an' had afore they shipped 'board this barque. Thar's the four
o' 'em, as I take it, all standin' in equal; while the rest o' the crew
war only to get so much o' a fixed sum."
"Striker, ye 'stonish me!"
"Well, I'm only tellin' ye what be true, an' what I knows to be so. I'm
gled you're agreeable to go in wi' us; the which 'll save trouble, an'
yer own life as well. For I may as well tell ye, Master Blew, that
they'd made up thar minds to send ye to the bottom o' the briny, 'long
wi' skipper an' the ole Spaniard, wi' the black throwed into the
bargain."
"That's a nice bit o' news to hear, by jingo! Well, Jack, I'm thankful
to ye for communicatin' it. Lord! it's lucky for me we've this night
chanced to get talkin' thegether."
"Thar may be luck in't all roun'. Bill an' me'd made up our minds to
stan' out for a equal divide o' the dust--like shares to ivery man.
Shud there be any dispute 'bout that bein' fair, wi' you on our side,
we'll eezy settle it our way, 'spite o' them Spanyards. If they refuse
to agree, an' it coomes to fightin', then Jack Striker's good for any
two on 'em."
"An' Harry Blew for any other two. No fear but we can fix that. How
many do you think will be with us?"
"Most all, I shud say, 'ceptin' the Spanyards themselves. It consarns
the rest same's it do us. At all events, we're bound to ha' the
majority."
"When do you propose we should begin broachin' it to them?"
"Straight away, if you say the word. I'll try some o' 'em soon as I've
goed off from heer. Thar be several on the watch as 'll be takin' a
drop o' grog thegether, 'fore we turns in. No better time nor now."
"True. So set at 'em at once, Striker. But mind ye, mate, be cautious
how ye talk to them, an' don't commit ayther of us too far, till you've
larnt their temper. I'll meet ye in the first dog-watch the morrow.
Then you can tell me how the land's likely to lie."
"All right. I'll see to it in the smooth way. Ye can trust Jack
Striker for that."
"Take another suck o' the Santa Cruz. If this trip proves prosp'rous in
the way we're plannin' it, neyther you nor me 'll need to go without the
best o' good liquor for the rest o' our lives."
Again Striker clutches at the proffered bottle, and holds it to his
head--this time till he has drained it dry.
Returned to him empty, Harry Blew tosses it overboard. Then parting
from the steersman, he commences moving forward, as with the design to
look after other duties.
As he steps out from under the shadow of the spanker, the moon gleaming
athwart his face, shows on it an expression which neither pencil nor pen
could depict. Difficult indeed to interpret it. The most skilled
physiognomist would be puzzled to say, whether it is the reproach of
conscious guilt, or innocence driven to desperation.