CHAPTER I.
THE MOURNERS AT SAN FRANCISCO.
The telegraph operator at the Golden Gate of San Francisco had longsince given up hope of the Excelsior. During the months of Septemberand October, 1854, stimulated by the promised reward, and often bythe actual presence of her owners, he had shown zeal and hope in hisscrutiny of the incoming ships. The gaunt arms of the semaphore atFort Point, turned against the sunset sky, had regularly recorded thesmallest vessel of the white-winged fleet which sought the portal of thebay during that eventful year of immigration; but the Excelsior was notamongst them. At the close of the year 1854 she was a tradition; by theend of January, 1855, she was forgotten. Had she been engulfed in herown element she could not have been more completely swallowed up than inthe changes of that shore she never reached. Whatever interest or hopewas still kept alive in solitary breasts the world never knew. By thesignificant irony of Fate, even the old-time semaphore that should havesignaled her was abandoned and forgotten.
The mention of her name--albeit in a quiet, unconcerned voice--in thedress-circle of a San Francisco theatre, during the performance of apopular female star, was therefore so peculiar that it could only havecome from the lips of some one personally interested in the lost vessel.Yet the speaker was a youngish, feminine-looking man of about thirty,notable for his beardlessness, in the crowded circle of bearded andmoustachioed Californians, and had been one of the most absorbed ofthe enthusiastic audience. A weak smile of vacillating satisfactionand uneasiness played on his face during the plaudits of hisfellow-admirers, as if he were alternately gratified and annoyed. Itmight have passed for a discriminating and truthful criticism of theperformance, which was a classical burlesque, wherein the star displayedan unconventional frankness of shapely limbs and unrestrained gesturesand glances; but he applauded the more dubious parts equally with theaudience. He was evidently familiar with the performance, for a look ofeager expectation greeted most of the "business." Either he had not comefor the entire evening, or he did not wish to appear as if he had, as hesat on one of the back benches near the passage, and frequently changedhis place. He was well, even foppishly, dressed for the period, andappeared to be familiarly known to the loungers in the passage as a manof some social popularity.
He had just been recognized by a man of apparently equal importance anddistinction, who had quietly and unconsciously taken a seat by hisside, and the recognition appeared equally unexpected and awkward.The new-comer was the older and more decorous-looking, with an addedformality of manner and self-assertion that did not, however, conceala certain habitual shrewdness of eye and lip. He wore a full beard,but the absence of a moustache left the upper half of his handsome andrather satirical mouth uncovered. His dress was less pronounced than hiscompanion's, but of a type of older and more established gentility.
"I was a little late coming from the office to-night," said the youngerman, with an embarrassed laugh, "and I thought I'd drop in here on myway home. Pretty rough outside, ain't it?"
"Yes, it's raining and blowing; so I thought I wouldn't go up to theplaza for a cab, but wait here for the first one that dropped a fare atthe door, and take it on to the hotel."
"Hold on, and I'll go with you," said the young man carelessly. "I say,Brimmer," he added, after a pause, with a sudden assumption of largergayety, "there's nothing mean about Belle Montgomery, eh? She's awhole team and the little dog under the wagon, ain't she? Deuced prettywoman!--no make-up there, eh?"
"She certainly is a fine woman," said Brimmer gravely, borrowing hiscompanion's lorgnette. "By the way, Markham, do you usually keep anopera-glass in your office in case of an emergency like this?"
"I reckon it was forgotten in my overcoat pocket," said Markham, with anembarrassed smile.
"Left over from the last time," said Brimmer, rising from his seat."Well, I'm going now--I suppose I'll have to try the plaza."
"Hold on a moment. She's coming on now--there she is!" He stopped, hisanxious eyes fixed upon the stage. Brimmer turned at the same moment inno less interested absorption. A quick hush ran through the theatre;the men bent eagerly forward as the Queen of Olympus swept down to thefootlights, and, with a ravishing smile, seemed to envelop the wholetheatre in a gracious caress.
"You know, 'pon my word, Brimmer, she's a very superior woman," gaspedMarkham excitedly, when the goddess had temporarily withdrawn. "Thesefellows here," he said, indicating the audience contemptuously, "don'tknow her,--think she's all that sort of thing, you know,--and come herejust to LOOK at her. But she's very accomplished--in fact, a kind ofliterary woman. Writes devilish good poetry--only took up the stageon account of domestic trouble: drunken husband that beat her--regularaffecting story, you know. These sap-headed fools don't, of course,know THAT. No, sir; she's a remarkable woman! I say, Brimmer, look here!I"--he hesitated, and then went on more boldly, as if he had formed asudden resolution. "What have you got to do to-night?"
Brimmer, who had been lost in abstraction, started slightly, and said,--
"I--oh! I've got an appointment with Keene. You know he's off by thesteamer--day after to-morrow?"
"What! He's not going off on that wild-goose chase, after all? Why, theman's got Excelsior on the brain!" He stopped as he looked at Brimmer'scold face, and suddenly colored. "I mean his plan--his idea's allnonsense--you know that!"
"I certainly don't agree with him," began Brimmer gravely; "but"--
"The idea," interrupted Markham, encouraged by Brimmer's beginning, "ofhis knocking around the Gulf of California, and getting up an expeditionto go inland, just because a mail-steamer saw a barque like theExcelsior off Mazatlan last August. As if the Excelsior wouldn't havegone into Mazatlan if it had been her! I tell you what it is, Brimmer:it's mighty rough on you and me, and it ain't the square thing atall--after all we've done, and the money we've spent, and the nightswe've sat up over the Excelsior--to have this young fellow Keene alwaysputting up the bluff of his lost sister on us! His lost sister, indeed!as if WE hadn't any feelings."
The two men looked at each other, and each felt it incumbent to lookdown and sigh deeply--not hypocritically, but perfunctorily, as overa past grief, although anger had been the dominant expression of thespeaker.
"I was about to remark," said Brimmer practically, "that the insuranceon the Excelsior having been paid, her loss is a matter of commercialrecord; and that, in a business point of view, this plan of Keene'sain't worth looking at. As a private matter of our own feelings--purelydomestic--there's no question but that we must sympathize with him,although he refuses to let us join in the expenses."
"Oh, as to that," said Markham hurriedly, "I told him to draw on me fora thousand dollars last time I saw him. No, sir; it ain't that. Whatgets me is this darned nagging and simpering around, and opening oldsores, and putting on sentimental style, and doing the bereavedbusiness generally. I reckon he'd be even horrified to see you and mehere--though it was just a chance with both of us."
"I think not," said Brimmer dryly. "He knows Miss Montgomery already.They're going by the same steamer."
Markham looked up quickly.
"Impossible! She's going by the other line to Panama; that is"--hehesitated--"I heard it from the agent."
"She's changed her mind, so Keene says," returned Brimmer. "She's goingby way of Nicaragua. He stops at San Juan to reconnoitre the coast up toMazatlan. Good-night. It's no use waiting here for a cab any longer, I'moff."
"Hold on!" said Markham, struggling out of a sudden uneasy reflection."I say, Brimmer," he resumed, with an enforced smile, which he tried tomake playful, "your engagement with Keene won't keep you long. What doyou say to having a little supper with Miss Montgomery, eh?--perfectlyproper, you know--at our hotel? Just a few friends, eh?"
Brimmer's eyes and lips slightly contracted.
"I believe I am already invited," he said quietly. "Keene asked me. Infact, that's the appointment. Strange he didn't speak of you," he addeddryly.
"I suppose it's some later arrangement," Markh
am replied, with feignedcarelessness. "Do you know her?"
"Slightly."
"You didn't say so!"
"You didn't ask me," said Brimmer. "She came to consult me about SouthAmerican affairs. It seems that filibuster General Leonidas, aliasPerkins, whose little game we stopped by that Peruvian contract,actually landed in Quinquinambo and established a government. It seemsshe knows him, has a great admiration for him as a Liberator, as shecalls him. I think they correspond!"
"She's a wonderful woman, by jingo, Brimmer! I'd like to hear whom shedon't know," said Markham, beaming with a patronizing vanity. "There'syou, and there's that filibuster, and old Governor Pico, that she's justsnatched bald-headed--I mean, you know, that he recognizes her worth,don't you see? Not like this cattle you see here."
"Are you coming with me?" said Brimmer, gravely buttoning up his coat,as if encasing himself in a panoply of impervious respectability.
"I'll join you at the hotel," said Markham hurriedly. "There's a manover there in the parquet that I want to say a word to; don't wait forme."
With a slight inclination of the head Mr. Brimmer passed out intothe lobby, erect, self-possessed, and impeccable. One or two of hiscommercial colleagues of maturer age, who were loitering leisurely bythe wall, unwilling to compromise themselves by actually sitting down,took heart of grace at this correct apparition. Brimmer nodded to themcoolly, as if on 'Change, and made his way out of the theatre. He hadscarcely taken a few steps before a furious onset of wind and rain drovehim into a doorway for shelter. At the same moment a slouching figure,with a turned-up coat-collar, slipped past him and disappeared in apassage at his right. Partly hidden by his lowered umbrella, Mr. Brimmerhimself escaped notice, but he instantly recognized his late companion,Markham. As he resumed his way up the street he glanced into thepassage. Halfway down, a light flashed upon the legend "Stage Entrance."Quincy Brimmer, with a faint smile, passed on to his hotel.
It was striking half-past eleven when Mr. Brimmer again issued from hisroom in the Oriental and passed down a long corridor. Pausing a momentbefore a side hall that opened from it, he cast a rapid look up and downthe corridor, and then knocked hastily at a door. It was opened sharplyby a lady's maid, who fell back respectfully before Mr. Brimmer'sall-correct presence.
Half reclining on a sofa in the parlor of an elaborate suite ofapartments was the woman whom Mr. Brimmer had a few hours before beheldon the stage of the theatre. Lifting her eyes languidly from a book thatlay ostentatiously on her lap, she beckoned her visitor to approach.She was a woman still young, whose statuesque beauty had but slightlysuffered from cosmetics, late hours, and the habitual indulgence ofcertain hysterical emotions that were not only inconsistent with theclassical suggestions of her figure, but had left traces not unlike thegrosser excitement of alcoholic stimulation. She looked like a tintedstatue whose slight mutations through stress of time and weather hadbeen unwisely repaired by freshness of color.
"I am such a creature of nerves," she said, raising a superb neck andextending a goddess-like arm, "that I am always perfectly exhaustedafter the performance. I fly, as you see, to my first love--poetry--assoon as Rosina has changed my dress. It is not generally known--butI don't mind telling YOU--that I often nerve myself for the effort ofacting by reading some well-remembered passage from my favorite poets,as I stand by the wings. I quaff, as one might say, a single draught ofthe Pierian spring before I go on."
The exact relations between the humorous "walk round," in which MissMontgomery usually made her first entrance, and the volume of Byron sheheld in her hand, did not trouble Mr. Brimmer so much as the beautifularm with which she emphasized it. Neither did it strike him that thedistinguishing indications of a poetic exaltation were at all unlike theeffects of a grosser stimulant known as "Champagne cocktail" on the lesssensitive organization of her colleagues. Touched by her melancholy butfascinating smile, he said gallantly that he had observed no sign ofexhaustion, or want of power in her performance that evening.
"Then you were there!" she said, fixing her eyes upon him with anexpression of mournful gratitude. "You actually left your business andthe calls of public duty to see the poor mountebank perform her nightlytask."
"I was there with a friend of yours," answered Brimmer soberly, "whoactually asked me to the supper to which Mr. Keene had already invitedme, and which YOU had been kind enough to suggest to me a week ago."
"True, I had forgotten," said Miss Montgomery, with a large goddess-likeindifference that was more effective with the man before her than themost elaborate explanation. "You don't mind them--do you?--for we areall friends together. My position, you know," she added sadly, "preventsmy always following my own inclinations or preferences. Poor Markham, Ifear the world does not do justice to his gentle, impressible nature.I sympathize with him deeply; we have both had our afflictions, we haveboth--lost. Good heavens!" she exclaimed, with a sudden exaggeratedstart of horror, "what have I done? Forgive my want of tact, dearfriend; I had forgotten, wretched being that I am, that YOU, too"--
She caught his hand in both hers, and bowed her head over it as ifunable to finish her sentence.
Brimmer, who had been utterly mystified and amazed at this picture ofMarkham's disconsolate attitude to the world, and particularly to thewoman before him, was completely finished by this later tribute to hisown affliction. His usually composed features, however, easily took uponthemselves a graver cast as he kept, and pressed, the warm hands in hisown.
"Fool that I was," continued Miss Montgomery; "in thinking of poorMarkham's childlike, open grief, I forgot the deeper sorrow that themore manly heart experiences under an exterior that seems cold andimpassible. Yes," she said, raising her languid eyes to Brimmer, "Iought to have felt the throb of that volcano under its mask of snow. Youhave taught me a lesson."
Withdrawing her hands hastily, as if the volcano had shown some signs ofactivity, she leaned back on the sofa again.
"You are not yet reconciled to Mr. Keene's expedition, then?" she askedlanguidly.
"I believe that everything has been already done," said Brimmer,somewhat stiffly; "all sources of sensible inquiry have been exhaustedby me. But I envy Keene the eminently practical advantages hisimpractical journey gives him," he added, arresting himself, gallantly;"he goes with you."
"Truly!" said Miss Montgomery, with the melancholy abstraction ofa stage soliloquy. "Beyond obeying the dictates of his brotherlyaffection, he gains no real advantage in learning whether his sister isalive or dead. The surety of her death would not make him freer than heis now--freer to absolutely follow the dictates of a new affection; freeto make his own life again. It is a sister, not a wife, he seeks."
Mr. Brimmer's forehead slightly contracted. He leaned back a little morerigidly in his chair, and fixed a critical, half supercilious look uponher. She did not seem to notice his almost impertinent scrutiny, but satsilent, with her eyes bent on the carpet, in gloomy abstraction.
"Can you keep a secret?" she said, as if with a sudden resolution.
"Yes," said Brimmer briefly, without changing his look.
"You know I am a married woman. You have heard the story of my wrongs?"
"I have heard them," said Brimmer dryly.
"Well, the husband who abused and deserted me was, I have reason tobelieve, a passenger on the Excelsior."
"M'Corkle!--impossible. There was no such name on the passenger list."
"M'Corkle!" repeated Miss Montgomery, with a dissonant tone in her voiceand a slight flash in her eyes. "What are you thinking of? There neverwas a Mr. M'Corkle; it was one of my noms de plume. And where did YOUhear it?"
"I beg your pardon, I must have got it from the press notices of yourbook of poetry. I knew that Montgomery was only a stage name, and asit was necessary that I should have another in making the businessinvestments you were good enough to charge me with, I used whatI thought was your real name. It can be changed, or you can signM'Corkle."
"Let it go," said Miss Montgomery, resuming her fo
rmer manner. "Whatmatters? I wish there was no such thing as business. Well," she resumed,after a pause, "my husband's name is Hurlstone."
"But there was no Hurlstone on the passenger list either," said Brimmer."I knew them all, and their friends."
"Not in the list from the States; but if he came on board at Callao, youwouldn't have known it. I knew that he arrived there on the Osprey a fewdays before the Excelsior sailed."
Mr. Brimmer's eyes changed their expression.
"And you want to find him?"
"No," she said, with an actress's gesture. "I want to know the truth. Iwant to know if I am still tied to this man, or if I am free tofollow the dictates of my own conscience,--to make my life anew,--tobecome--you see I am not ashamed to say it--to become the honest wife ofsome honest man."
"A divorce would suit your purpose equally," said Brimmer coldly. "Itcan be easily obtained."
"A divorce! Do you know what that means to a woman in my profession? Itis a badge of shame,--a certificate of disgrace,--an advertisement toevery miserable wretch who follows me with his advances that I have nolonger the sanctity of girlhood, nor the protection of a wife."
There was tragic emotion in her voice, there were tears in her eyes. Mr.Brimmer, gazing at her with what he firmly thought to be absolute andincisive penetration, did not believe either. But like most practicalanalysts of the half-motived sex, he was only half right. The emotionand the tears were as real as anything else in the woman undercriticism, notwithstanding that they were not as real as they would havebeen in the man who criticised. He, however, did her full justice ona point where most men and all women misjudged her: he believed that,through instinct and calculation, she had been materially faithfulto her husband; that this large goddess-like physique had all theimpeccability of a goddess; that the hysterical dissipation in whichshe indulged herself was purely mental, and usurped and preoccupied allother emotions. In this public exposition of her beauty there was nosense of shame, for there was no sense of the passion it evoked. Andhe was right. But there he should have stopped. Unfortunately, hismasculine logic forced him to supply a reason for her coldness in theexistence of some more absorbing passion. He believed her ambitious andcalculating: she was neither. He believed she might have made him anadmirable copartner and practical helpmeet: he was wrong.
"You know my secret now," she continued. "You know why I am anxious toknow my fate. You understand now why I sympathize with"--she stopped,and made a half contemptuous gesture--"with these men Markham andKeene. THEY do not know it; perhaps they prefer to listen to their ownvanity--that's the way of most men; but you do know it, and you have noexcuse for misjudging me, or undeceiving them." She stopped and lookedat the clock. "They will be here in five minutes; do you wish them tofind you already here?"
"It is as YOU wish," stammered Brimmer, completely losing hisself-possession.
"I have no wish," she said, with a sublime gesture of indifference. "Ifyou wait you can entertain them here, while Rosina is dressing me in thenext room. We sup in the larger room across the hall."
As she disappeared, Quincy Brimmer rose irresolutely from his seat andchecked a half uttered exclamation. Then he turned nervously to theparlor-door. What a senseless idiot he had become! He had never for aninstant conceived the idea of making this preliminary confidential visitknown to the others; he had no wish to suggest the appearance of anassignation with the woman, who, rightly or wrongly, was notorious;he had nothing to gain by this voluntary assumption of a compromisingattitude; yet here he was, he--Mr. Brimmer--with the appearance of beinginstalled in her parlor, receiving her visitors, and dispensing hercourtesies. Only a man recklessly in love would be guilty of suchan indiscretion--even Markham's feebleness had never reached thisabsurdity. In the midst of his uneasiness there was a knock at the door;he opened it himself nervously and sharply. Markham's self-satisfiedface drew back in alarm and embarrassment at the unexpected apparition.The sight restored Brimmer's coolness and satirical self-possession.
"I--I--didn't know you were here," stammered Markham. "I left Keene inyour room."
"Then why didn't you bring him along with you?" said Brimmermaliciously. "Go and fetch him."
"Yes; but he said you were to meet him there," continued Markham,glancing around the empty room with a slight expression of relief.
"My watch was twenty minutes fast, and I had given him up," saidBrimmer, with mendacious effrontery. "Miss Montgomery is dressing. Youcan bring him here before she returns."
Markham flew uneasily down the corridor and quickly returned with ahandsome young fellow of five-and-twenty, whose frank face was beamingwith excitement and youthful energy. The two elder men could not helpregarding him with a mingled feeling of envy and compassion.
"Did you tell Brimmer yet?" said Keene, with animation.
"I haven't had time," hesitated Markham. "The fact is, Brimmer, I thinkof going with Keene on this expedition."
"Indeed!" said Brimmer superciliously.
"Yes," said Markham, coloring slightly. "You see, we've got news. Tellhim, Dick."
"The Storm Cloud got in yesterday from Valparaiso and Central Americanports," said Keene, with glowing cheeks. "I boarded her, as usual, lastnight, for information. The mate says there is a story of a man pickedup crazy, in an open fishing-boat, somewhere off the peninsula, andbrought into hospital at San Juan last August. He recovered enoughlately to tell his story and claim to be Captain Bunker of theExcelsior, whose crew mutinied and ran her ashore in a fog. But theboat in which he was picked up was a Mexican fishing-boat, and therewas something revolutionary and political about the story, so thatthe authorities detained him. The consul has just been informed of thecircumstances, and has taken the matter in hand."
"It's a queer story," said Brimmer, gazing from the one to the other,"and I will look into it also to-morrow. If it is true," he addedslowly, "I will go with you."
Richard Keene extended his hand impulsively to his two elders.
"You'll excuse me for saying it, Brimmer--and you, too, Markham--butthis is just what I've been looking forward to. Not but what I'd havefound Nell without your assistance; but you see, boys, it DID lookmighty mean in me to make more fuss about a sister than you would foryour wives! But now that it's all settled"--
"We'll go to supper," said Miss Montgomery theatrically, appearing atthe door. "Dick will give me his arm."