Part 5 (2/2)

”Nothin', lad, ha! ha! Oh yes, human flesh is up, Ned; sailors is riz, an' we've been sold;--we have--uncommon!”

Hereupon the captain roared again; but there was a slight peculiarity in the tone, that indicated a strong infusion of rage with the seeming merriment.

”They're all gone--every man, Jack,” said Jones, with a face of deep solemnity, as he stood looking at the captain.

”So they are, the blackguards; an' that without biddin' us good mornin', bad luck to them,” added O'Neil.

At first, Ned Sinton felt little disposed to take a comic view of the affair, and urged the captain strongly to take the lightest boat and set off in pursuit; but the latter objected to this.

”It's of no use,” he said, ”the s.h.i.+p can't be repaired here without heavy expense; so, as I don't mean to go to sea again for some time, the desertion of the men matters little after all.”

”Not go to sea again!” exclaimed Ned, in surprise. ”What, then, do you mean to do?”

”That's more than I can tell. I must see first how the cargo is to be disposed of; after that, it will be time enough to concoct plans for the future. It is quite clear that the tide of luck is out about as far as it can go just now; perhaps it may turn soon.”

”No doubt of it, captain,” cried his young _protege_ with a degree of energy that shewed he had made up his mind as to what _his_ course should be, in the event of things coming to the worst. ”I'll go down and put on a few more articles of clothing, and then we'll have a talk over matters.”

The ”talk,” which was held over the breakfast-table in the cabin, resulted in the captain resolving to go ash.o.r.e, and call on a Scotch merchant, named Thompson, to whom he had a letter of introduction.

Half-an-hour later this resolve was carried out. Jones rowed them ash.o.r.e in the smallest boat they had, and sculled back to the s.h.i.+p, leaving O'Neil with them to a.s.sist in carrying up two boxes which were consigned to Mr Thompson.

The quay on which they stood was crowded with men of all nations, whose excited looks, and tones, and ”go-ahead” movements, testified to the high-pressure speed with which business in San Francisco was transacted.

”It's more nor I can do to carry them two boxes at wance,” said Larry O'Neil, regarding them with a puzzled look, ”an' sorra a porter do I see nowhere.”

As he spoke, a tall, gentlemanly-looking young man, in a red-flannel s.h.i.+rt, round-crowned wide-awake, long boots, and corduroys, stepped forward, and said, ”I'll help you, if you like.”

”D'ye think ye can lift it!” inquired Larry, with a dubious look.

The youth replied by seizing one of the boxes, and lifting it with ease on his shoulder, shewing that, though dest.i.tute of fat, he had more than the average allowance of bone and sinew.

”I doubt if you could do it better than that yourself, Larry,” said Ned, laughing. ”Come along, now, close at our heels, lest we get separated in the crowd.”

The young porter knew the residence of Mr Thompson well, and guided them swiftly through the crowded thoroughfares towards it. Pa.s.sing completely through the town, he led them over the brow of one of the sand-hills beyond it, and descended into a little valley, where several neat villas were scattered along the sides of a pleasant green slope, that descended towards another part of the bay. Turning into the little garden in front of one of these villas, he placed the box on the wooden platform before the door, and said, ”This is Mr Thompson's house.”

There was something striking in the appearance of this young porter; he seemed much above his station in life; and Ned Sinton regarded his bronzed and handsome, but somewhat haggard and dissipated countenance, with interest, as he drew out his purse, and asked what was to pay.

”Two dollars,” answered the man.

Ned looked up in surprise. The idea of paying eight s.h.i.+llings for so slight a service had never entered his imagination. At that moment the door opened, and Mr Thompson appeared, and invited them to enter. He was a shrewd, business-like man, with stern, but kind expression of countenance.

”Come in, come in, and welcome to California,” he said, on perusing the captain's letter of introduction. ”Glad to see you, gentlemen. You've not had breakfast, of course; we are just about to sit down. This way,” he added, throwing open the door of a comfortable and elegantly-furnished parlour. ”Bring the boxes into the pa.s.sage--that will do. Here, Lizette, pay the men, dear; two dollars a-piece, I fancy--”

”Excuse me,” interrupted Captain Bunting, ”only one bas to be paid, the other is one of my sailors.”

”Ah! very good; which is he?”

Larry O'Neil stepped forward, hat in hand.

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