The _mal de mer_ is no respecter of persons. Voyagers of every age, and
either sex, must pay toll to it; the which it indiscriminately, if not
equally, exacts from the strong robust youth, and the frail delicate
maiden. Even beauty must submit to this merciless malady; at whose
touch red lips turn pale, and rose-tinted cheeks show wan and wasted.
Afflicting, on first acquaintance with it, it is always more or less
disagreeable, and ever ready at offering its hand to those who go down
to the sea in ships--that hand whose very touch is palsy.
The voyage Carmen Montijo and Inez Alvarez are now making is not their
first. Both have been at sea before--in the passage out from Spain.
But this does not exempt them from the terrible infliction, and both
suffer from it.
Stricken down by it, they are for several days confined to the cabin;
most of the time to their state-room; and, as ill-luck would have it,
without any one of their own sex to wait upon them--a want due to
circumstances partially accidental, but wholly unexpected. The Chilian
skipper, not accustomed to have a stewardess on his ship, had never
thought of such a thing; his whole attention being taken up in
collecting that crew, so difficult to obtain; while their own
waiting-maid, who was to have accompanied the young ladies on their
voyage, failed them at the eleventh hour; having preferred undertaking a
journey of a different kind--not to Spain, but the altar of Hymen. At
the last moment of embarkation, she was missing; her Californian
_amante_ having persuaded her to remain behind.
Withal, the lady voyagers have not been so badly attended. The old
negro cook--acting also as steward, comes up to the occasion; for he has
a tender heart under his rough sable skin, and waits upon them with
delicate assiduity.
And Captain Lantanas is equally assiduous in his attentions, placing
most of his time at their disposal, with whatever else he can think of
likely to alleviate their suffering.
In due course they recover; Carmen first, from being of more robust
habit and stronger constitution. But both are at length able to show
themselves out of their state-room, and after a day or two waiting for
fine weather, they venture upon deck.
During this sojourn below, they have had no communication with any one,
save Don Gregorio--who has been like themselves, invalided--and of
course the captain and cook. But not any of the officers, or sailors,
of the ship. Indeed, on these they have never set eyes, excepting on
that day when they sailed out through the Golden Gate. But, then, their
thoughts were otherwise occupied--too much engrossed with certain
personages absent, to care for any that were present; least of all the
sailors of the ship--these scarce getting a glance from them.
Still there is one they have a strong desire to see, and also speak
with. Not a common sailor, but the _piloto_, or first officer, of the
vessel--for they are aware the English seaman has been promoted to this
responsible post.
During their forced confinement in the state-room, they have often held
discourse about him; this connected with a subject that gives them the
greatest concern, and no little pain. There is still rankling in their
breasts that matter unexplained; no letters left by their lovers at
their abrupt departure, save the one for Don Gregorio, with salutation
to themselves, so coldly, ceremoniously formal. It is to inquire about
that, they are so anxious for an interview with Harry Blew, hoping,
almost believing him to have been entrusted with some verbal message he
has not yet delivered.
From the terms in which Crozier spoke of him while giving account of how
he had saved his life, it is natural to suppose, that between preserved
and preserver there should be confidence of a very intimate kind.
Therefore Carmen still more than half believes the sailor has a word for
herself--kept back for the want of opportunity. She recalls certain
things he said jocularly, on the day he brought Crozier's letter to the
house, and while she was herself showing him hospitality. These went so
far as to show, that the ex-man-o'-war's man was not altogether ignorant
of the relations existing between her and his old officer. And now she
longs to renew conversation with him, hoping to hear more of those same
pleasant words--perhaps get explanation of the others not so pleasant--
in the letter. Inez is affected with a like longing, for she too feels
the slight they conveyed--if not so much as her aunt, still enough to
wish for their true interpretation.
Both thus basing their hopes on Harry Blew, they have been for some time
on the lookout for him, though as yet unsuccessfully. Several times
have they ascended to the deck; but without seeing him, or only afar
off, and, to all appearance, busily engaged with his duties about the
ship.
Of course they do not expect him to come to them; and, with the secret
purpose they have conceived, dislike summoning him; while he on his part
appears to keep aloof, or, at all events, does not draw near--perhaps
not desiring to be deemed intrusive. For, although first officer of the
vessel, he is still only a rough sailor, and may think himself ill
qualified for the company of ladies.
Whatever the reason, they have been several times above, without finding
an opportunity to speak with him; and for this they wait with irksome
impatience.
At length, however, it seems to have arrived. They have come out on the
quarter, in front of the round-house door, and are seated on chairs
which the considerate skipper brought up for them. He is himself by
their side, endeavouring to entertain them by pointing out the various
objects on his vessel, and explaining their uses.
They give but little heed to the technical dissertations of the
well-meaning man, and only a passing glance at the objects indicated.
Even the two gigantic apes, that go gambolling about the decks--
exhibiting uncouth gestures, and uttering hoarse cries--fail to fix
their attention; though Captain Lantanas tells them many curious tales
of these creatures--_myas_ monkeys, he calls them, which he has brought
with him from Borneo. Too simple-minded to observe the inattention of
his listeners, he is proceeding still farther to illustrate the habits
of the orangs, when his lecture on natural history is interrupted, by
the necessity for his taking an observation of the sun. It is a few
minutes before mid-day, and he must needs determine his latitude. So
making apology to the ladies, he hurries down to the cabin to get his
quadrant.
His leaving them is a relief, for they see the first mate moving about,
and have hopes of being able to accost, and enter into conversation with
him. True, he seems busy as ever; but it is nigh the hour when the men
of the forecastle go down to their dinners, and then they may have the
opportunity while he is disengaged.
For some time they sit watching, and waiting. He is in the waist with
several of the sailors around him, occupied about one of the boats,
there slung upon its davits.
While regarding him and his movements, the ladies cannot avoid also
observing those of the men, nor help being struck by them. Not so much
their movements, as their appearance, and the expression seen on some of
their countenances. On no one of them is it pleasant, but on the
contrary scowling and savage. Never before have they seen so many faces
wearing such disagreeable looks, that is, gathered in one group--and
they have passed through the streets of San Francisco, where the worst
types may be met. Many of them--indeed nearly all--are not only
unprepossessing, but positively forbidding; and the young girls, not
desiring to encounter certain glances, sent towards them, with an
impudent effrontery, turn their eyes away.
Just then, Harry Blew, separating from the sailors, is seen coming aft.
It is in obedience to a message which the black cook has brought up out
of the cabin--an order from Captain Lantanas for his first officer to
meet him on the quarterdeck, and assist in "taking the sun."
But the captain has not yet come up; and, on reaching the quarter, the
ex-man-o'-war's man, for the first time since he shipped on the Chilian
craft, finds himself alone in the presence of the ladies.
They salute him with an _empressement_, which, to their surprise, is but
coldly returned! Only a slight bow; after which he appears to busy
himself with the log-slate lying on the capstan-head.
One closely scrutinising him, however, would see that this is pretence;
for his eyes are not on the slate, but furtively turned towards the
ship's waist, watching the men, from whom he has just separated, and who
seem to have their eyes upon _him_.
The young ladies thus repulsed--and almost rudely, as they take it--make
no farther attempt to bring on a conversation; but, forsaking their
chairs, hasten down the companion-stairs, and on to their own
state-room--there to talk over a disappointment that has given chagrin
to both, but which neither can satisfactorily explain.
The more they reflect on the conduct of the English sailor, the stranger
it seems to them; and the greater is their vexation. For now they feel
almost sure that something must have happened; that same thing--whatever
it be--which dictated those cruel parting compliments. They seem doubly
so now; for now they have evidence that such must have been the
sentiment--almost proof of it in the behaviour of Harry Blew.
They are hurt by it--stung to the quick--and never again during that
voyage do they attempt entering into conversation with the first officer
of the _Condor_, nor with any one belonging to her--save her kindly
captain, and the cook, equally kind to them, though in a different way.
Indeed, they no longer care to go on deck; only on rare occasions
showing themselves there, as if they disliked looking upon him who has
so rudely reminded them of the treason of their lovers.
Can it be treason? And if so, why? They ask these questions with eyes
bent upon their fingers--on rings encircling them--placed there by those
they are suspecting of disloyalty! The insignia should be proof of the
contrary. But it is not, for love is above all things suspicious--
however doting, ever doubting. Even on this evidence of its truth they
no longer lean, and scarce console themselves with the hope, which that
has hitherto been sustaining them. Now farther off than ever seems the
realisation of that sweet expectancy hoped for and held out at last
parting, promised in the phrase: "_Hasta Cadiz_!"