nce.
And as for small feet in men, about which the French pride, and pinch
themselves, why every tailor's got that."

"Ha, ha ha!" laughs the young Welshman. "A treatise on Orthopoedia, or
whatever it's called. Well, I shall let the Chilena's feet stand, with
the ankles too, and get Grummet to add on the toggery."

"What if your _Chilena_ should chance to set eyes on the improved
portrait? Remember we're to call at Valparaiso!"

"By Jove! I never thought of that."

"If you should meet her, you'll do well to keep your shirt-sleeves down,
or you may get the picture scratched--your cheeks along with it."

"Bah! there's no danger of that. I don't expect ever to see that girl
again--don't intend to. It wouldn't be fair, after giving that
engagement ring to Inez. If we do put into Valparaiso, I'll stay aboard
all the time the frigate's in port. That will insure against any--"

"_Land ho_!"

Their dialogue is interrupted. The lookout on the masthead has sighted
Mauna-Loa.

CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT.

A CREW THAT MEANS MUTINY.

A Ship sailing down the Pacific, on the line of longitude 125 degrees
West. Technically speaking, not a _ship_, but a _barque_, as may be
told by her mizzen-sails, set fore and aft.

Of all craft encountered on the ocean, there is none so symmetrically
beautiful as the _barque_. Just as the name looks well on the page of
poetry and romance, so is the reality itself on the surface of the sea.
The sight is simply perfection.

And about the vessel in question another graceful peculiarity is
observable: her masts are of the special kind called _polacca_--in one
piece from step to truck.

Such vessels are _common enough_ in the Mediterranean, and not rare in
Spanish-American ports. They may be seen at Monte Video, Buenos Ayres,
and Valparaiso--to which last this barque belongs. For she is Chilian
built; her tall tapering masts made of trees from the ancient forests of
Araucania. Painted upon the stern is the name _El Condor_; and she is
the craft commanded by Captain Antonio Lantanas.

This may seem strange. In the harbour of San Francisco the _Condor_ was
a ship. How can she now be a barque?

The answer is easy, as has been the transformation; and a word will
explain it. For the working of her sails, a barque requires fewer hands
than a ship. Finding himself with a short crew, Captain Lantanas has
resorted to a stratagem, common in such cases, and converted his vessel
acco