The Crusade of the Excelsior | Page 4

stanchions. This
did not, however, prevent him from noticing the change in her position,
and captiously resenting it.
"Look here--you; I say! What have we turned round for? We're going
away from the land! Ain't we going on to Mazatlan?"

The two men at the wheel looked silently forward, with that
exasperating unconcern of any landsman's interest peculiar to marine
officials. The passenger turned impatiently to the third mate.
"But this ain't right, you know. It was understood that we were going
into Mazatlan. I've got business there."
"My orders, sir," said the mate curtly, turning away.
The practical passenger had been observant enough of sea-going rules
to recognize that this reason was final, and that it was equally futile to
demand an interview with the captain when that gentleman was not
visibly on duty. He turned angrily to the cabin again.
"You look disturbed, my dear Banks. I trust you haven't slept badly,"
said a very gentle voice from the quarter-rail near him; "or, perhaps, the
ship's going about has upset you. It's a little rougher on this tack."
"That's just it," returned Banks sharply. "We HAVE gone about, and
we're not going into Mazatlan at all. It's scandalous! I'll speak to the
captain--I'll complain to the consignees--I've got business at
Mazatlan--I expect letters--I"--
"Business, my dear fellow?" continued the voice, in gentle protest.
"You'll have time for business when you get to San Francisco. And as
for letters--they'll follow you there soon enough. Come over here, my
boy, and say hail and farewell to the Mexican coast--to the land of
Montezuma and Pizarro. Come here and see the mountain range from
which Balboa feasted his eyes on the broad Pacific. Come!"
The speaker, though apparently more at his ease at sea, was in dress
and appearance fully as unnautical as Banks. As he leaned over the
railing, his white, close-fitting trousers and small patent-leather boots
gave him a jaunty, half-military air, which continued up to the second
button of his black frock-coat, and then so utterly changed its character
that it was doubtful if a greater contrast could be conceived than that
offered by the widely spread lapels of his coat, his low turned-down
collar, loosely knotted silk handkerchief, and the round, smooth-shaven,

gentle, pacific face above them. His straight long black hair, shining as
if from recent immersion, was tucked carefully behind his ears, and
hung in a heavy, even, semicircular fringe around the back of his neck
where his tall hat usually rested, as if to leave his forehead meekly
exposed to celestial criticism. When he had joined the ship at Callao,
his fellow-passengers, rashly trusting to the momentary suggestion of
his legs on the gang-plank, had pronounced him military; meeting him
later at dinner, they had regarded the mild Methodistic contour of his
breast and shoulders above the table, and entertained the wild idea of
asking him to evoke a blessing. To complete the confusion of his
appearance, he was called "Senor" Perkins, for no other reason,
apparently, than his occasional, but masterful, use of the Spanish
vernacular.
Steadying himself by one of the quarter stanchions, he waved his right
hand oratorically towards the sinking coast.
"Look at it, sir. One of the finest countries that ever came from the
hand of the Creator; a land overflowing with milk and honey;
containing, sir, in that one mountain range, the products of the three
zones--and yet the abode of the oppressed and down-trodden; the land
of faction, superstition, tyranny, and political revolution."
"That's all very well," said Banks irritably, "but Mazatlan is a
well-known commercial port, and has English and American
correspondents. There's a branch of that Boston firm--Potter, Potts &
Potter--there. The new line of steamers is going to stop there regularly."
Senor Perkins' soft black eyes fell for an instant, as if accidentally, on
the third mate, but the next moment he laughed, and, throwing back his
head, inhaled, with evident relish, a long breath of the sharp, salt air.
"Ah!" he said enthusiastically, "THAT'S better than all the business
you can pick up along a malarious coast. Open your mouth and try to
take in the free breath of the glorious North Pacific. Ah! isn't it
glorious?"
"Where's the captain?" said Banks, with despairing irritation. "I want to

see him."
"The captain," said Senor Perkins, with a bland, forgiving smile and a
slight lowering of his voice, "is, I fear, suffering from an accident of
hospitality, and keeps his state-room. The captain is a good fellow,"
continued Perkins, with gentle enthusiasm; "a good sailor and careful
navigator, and exceedingly attentive to his passengers. I shall certainly
propose getting up some testimonial for him."
"But if he's shut up in his state-room, who's giving the orders?" began
Banks angrily.
Senor Perkins put up a small, well-kept hand