Part 18 (1/2)
They are advancing along the sh.o.r.e-road, afoot; having declined their host's offer of horses--both saying they would prefer to walk; Cadwallader adding, in his favourite sailor phrase, that he wished to ”kick the knots out of his legs”--a remark but obscurely comprehensible to Don Gregorio.
For some time after leaving the Spaniard's house, not a word pa.s.ses between them. Each is occupied with his own thoughts, the sacredness of which keeps him silent; absorbed in reflections, about that tender, but painful parting, speculating on what may be before them in the far uncertain future.
For a time, nought intrudes upon their reverie, to disturb its natural course. The sough of the tidal surf breaking upon the beach, the occasional cry of a soaring sea-bird, or the more continuous and melancholy note of the chuck-will's-widow, do not attract their attention. They are sounds in consonance with their thoughts, still a little sad.
As they draw nearer to the city, see its flas.h.i.+ng lights, and hear its hum of voices, other and less doleful ideas come uppermost, leading to conversation. Crozier commences it:
”Well, Will, old fellow, we've made a day of it!”
”That we have--a rousing, jolly day. I don't think I ever enjoyed one more in my life.”
”Only for its drawbacks.”
”You mean our affair with those fellows? Why, that was the best part of it--so far as fun. To see the one in the sky-blue wrap, after I'd dirked his horse, go off like a s.h.i.+p in a gale, with n.o.body at the helm!
By Jove! it was equal to old Billy b.u.t.ton in the circus. And then the other, you bundled over in the road, as he got up looking like a dog just out of a dust-bin! Oh! 'twas delicious! The best sh.o.r.e adventure I've had since leaving home--something to talk about when we get aboard the s.h.i.+p.”
”Ay, and something to do besides talking. We've got a little writing to do; at least I have--a bit of a letter to this swaggerer, Mr Francisco de Lara.”
”But, surely, you don't intend challenging him--after what's happened?”
”Surely I do. Though, to say the truth, I've no great stomach for it, seeing the sort he is. It's _infra dig_ having to fight one's inferior, though it be with sword or pistol. It feels like getting into a row with roughs in some slum of a seaport.”
”You're right there; and as to calling the fellow out, I'd do nothing of the kind, Ned. He's a bad lot; so is the other. Blackguards both, as their behaviour has shown them. They don't deserve to be treated as gentlemen.”
”But we're in California, Will; where the code of the duello takes in such as they. Here even thieves and cut-throats talk about protecting their honour, as they term it; ay, and often act up to their talk. I've been told of a duel that took place not long since between two professional gamblers, in which one of them was shot dead in his tracks.
And only the other day a judge was called out by a man he had tried, and convicted, of some misdemeanour! Well, the judge not only went, but actually killed the cad who'd stood before him as a criminal! All that seems very absurd, but so it is. And if this scarlet-cloaked cavalier don't show the white-feather, and back out, I'll either have to kill, or cripple him; though like as not he may do one or the other for me.”
”But don't you think, Ned, you've had enough out of him?”
”In what way?”
”Why, in the way of _revanche_. For my part, I should decidedly say you had by far the best of it. After your first encounter in the morning, I thought differently; and would have so counselled you. Then the insult offered you remained unpunished. The other has put a different face on the affair; and now that he's got more than he gave, I think you should rest satisfied, and let things stand as they are--if he do. Certainly, after that knock and tumble, it's his place to sing out.”
”There's something in what you say, Will. And now, on reflection, I'm not so sure that I'll take further trouble about the fellow, unless he insist on it; which he may not, seeing he's unquestionably base coin--as you say, a blackguard. He appears a sort of Californian bravo; and if we hadn't secured his pistol, I suppose he'd have done some shooting with it. Well, we'll see whether he comes to reclaim it. If he don't, I shall have to send it to him. Otherwise, he may have us up before one of these duelling justices on a charge of robbing him!”
”Ha, ha, ha! That would be a rare joke; an appropriate ending to our day's fun.”
”Quite the contrary. It might be serious, if it should reach the ears of Bracebridge. The old disciplinarian would never believe but that we'd been in the wrong--taken the fellow's pistol from him for a lark, or something of that sort. True, we could have the thing explained, both to the San Francisco magistrate, and the frigate's captain; but not without an exposure of names and circ.u.mstances. That, though it might be proper enough, would be anything but a pleasant finale to our day's fun, as you call it.”
”Well, I know what will,” rejoins Cadwallader, after listening patiently to his comrade's explanatory speech, ”and that's a gla.s.s of something good to drink. Those sweet Spanish wines of Don Gregorio have made me thirsty as a fish. Besides, parting with dear Inez has got my heart down, and I need something to stir it up again.”
”All right, my hearty!” exclaims Crozier; for the jest's sake, talking sailor-slang--”I'm with you in that way. For this day at least we've had enough of war, and, shall I say, women?”
”No--no!” protests Cadwallader; ”that would be an ungallant speech, after what's pa.s.sed. We could never have enough of them--at least, not I.”
”Why, Will, we've grown wonderfully sentimental, and in such a short time! Well, let's drop the subject of woman, and end our day with the third of three w's--wine.”
”Agreed!” responds the young Welshman. ”But, for my part, I'd prefer ending it with a different tipple, which has also a w for its initial letter--that's whisky. If we could only get a gla.s.s of good Scotch or Irish malt in this mushroom city, it would make a new man of me--which just now I need making. As I tell you, Ned, my heart's down--dead down to the heels of my boots. I can't say why, but there it is; and there I suppose, it'll stay, unless Dutch courage come to the rescue.”
”Well, you'll soon have an opportunity of getting that. As you see, we are in the suburbs of this grand city, partly constructed of canvas; where, though food may be scarce, and raiment scanty, there's liquor in abundance. In the _Parker House_, which is, I believe, its best hotel, we'll be sure of finding almost every beverage brewed upon the earth-- among them your favourite whisky, and mine--'Ba.s.s's Bitter.'”