No need to say that the two officers who have entered the _Condor's_
cabin are Crozier and Cadwallader. For she is the polacca-barque chased
by a frigate, and that frigate the _Crusader_.
The cry simultaneously raised by them is one of strange intonation,
telling less of surprise, than conjecture too fatally confirmed.
While in chase of the barque, and her national colours were first made
out, they had no thought of connecting her with the vessel which Don
Gregorio Montijo had chartered to take him to Panama. True, they had
heard that this was a Chilian vessel, and her skipper of that nation.
But they had also been told she was a _ship_, not a _barque_. And as
among the many craft in San Francisco Bay, neither had noticed her, how
would they think of identifying her with the chased polacca.
Gradually, however, as the frigate drew upon her, certain suspicions of
a painful nature began to shape themselves in Crozier's mind; still so
vague he did not deem it worth while communicating them to Cadwallader.
He remembered having seen a _polacca-masted_ vessel in the harbour of
San Francisco; besides, that she was a _ship_. And so far as his
recollection served, she was of the same size as that running before the
frigate. Besides, he could distinctly recall the fact of her flying
Chilian colours. The peculiar style of her masting had drawn his
attention to her.
And while they were still pursuing the barque, and commenting on the
coincident statement of the brig and whaler about men having been aboard
of her _covered with red hair_, Crozier also recalled a statement
strangely significant, which Harry Blew had made to one of the men who
had rowed Cadwallader ashore, on the day the _Crusader_ sailed. Blew
had been aboard the Chilian vessel, and being asked by his old shipmate
what sort of crew she had, laughingly replied: "Only a _black_ man, and
two _red_ ones." Pressed for an explanation about the red ones, he said
they were a couple of _orang-outangs_.
Putting these odd _data_ together, and comparing them, the _Crusader's_
third lieutenant began to have an uneasy feeling, as they followed the
retreating vessel. That she was a barque, and not a ship, meant
nothing. As a seaman, he knew how easy the conversion--how often made.
When at length both vessels lay becalmed, and an order for boarding was
given, he had solicited the command--by a private word to the frigate's
captain, as had Cadwallader the leave to accompany him; the latter
actuated by impulses not very dissimilar.
When both at length climbed the barque's sides, saw the red monkeys on
deck, and the black man in the galley, their apprehension became
sharpened to the keenest foreboding--far more than a presentiment of
misfortune.
Alas! as they entered the _Condor's_ cabin, beholding its fulfilment.
The cry that escaped their lips came on the recognition of Don Gregorio
Montijo; followed by other exclamations, as they looked at the two
unoccupied chairs, a fan upon the one, a scarf over the back of the
other. It was then that Crozier rushing upon deck, sent the cutter off
for the surgeon, himself instantly returning to the cabin.
Still wilder--almost a wail--is the shout simultaneously raised by the
young officers, when, after dashing open the state-room doors, they look
in and see all empty!
They turn to those at the table, asking information--entreating it: one
answers with a strange Bedlamite laugh; the other not at all. It is Don
Gregorio who is silent. They see that his head is hanging over. He
appears insensible.
"Great God! is he dead?"
They glide towards him, grasp table-knives, and cut the cords that have
been confining him. Senseless, he sinks into their arms.
But he is not dead; only in a faint. Though feebly, his pulse still
beats!
With wine they wet his lips--the wine so long standing untasted! They
open his mouth, and pour some of it down his throat, then stand over him
to await the effect.
Soon his pulse grows stronger, and his eyes sparkle with the light of
reviving life.
Laid gently along the sofa, he is at length restored to consciousness;
with sufficient strength to answer the questions eagerly put to him.
There are two, simultaneously asked, almost echoes of one another.
"Where is Carmen? Where is Inez?"
"Gone!" he gasps out. "Carried away by the--"
He does not finish the speech. His breath fails him, and he seems
relapsing into the syncope from which he has been aroused. Fearing
this, they question him no farther, but continue to administer
restoratives. They give him more wine, making him also eat of the
fruits found upon the table.
They have also set the skipper free; but soon see cause to regret it.
He strides to and fro, flings his arms about in frenzied gesture,
clutches at decanters, glasses, bottles, and breaks them against one
another, or dashes them down upon the floor. He needs restraining, and
they do that, by shutting him up in a state-room.
Returning to Don Gregorio, they continue to nurse him; all the while
wishing the surgeon to come.
While impatiently waiting they hear a hail from the top of the
cabin-stairs. It is their coxswain, who shouts:--
"Below there!"
He is about to announce the cutter's return from the frigate.
Ah no! It is not that; but something different; which instead of
gratifying, gives them a fresh spasm of pain. Listening, they hear him
say:--
"Come on deck, Mr Crozier! There's a bank o' black fog rollin' up.
It's already close on the barque's starboard bow. It look like there's
mischief in't; and I believe there be. For God's sake, hurry up, sir!"