ter-deck--which, with its grated settees and stacked camp-chairs,
seemed to indicate the presence of cabin passengers. For the barque
Excelsior, from New York to San Francisco, had discharged the bulk of
her cargo at Callao, and had extended her liberal cabin accommodation to
swell the feverish Californian immigration, still in its height.

Suddenly there was a slight commotion on deck. An order, issued from
some invisible depth of the cabin, was so unexpected that it had to be
repeated sternly and peremptorily. A bustle forward ensued, two or three
other shadows sprang up by the bulwarks, then the two men bent over the
wheel, the Excelsior slowly swung round on her heel, and, with a parting
salutation to the coast, bore away to the northwest and the open sea
again.

"What's up now?" growled one of the men at the wheel to his companion,
as they slowly eased up on the helm.

"'Tain't the skipper's, for he's drunk as a biled owl, and ain't stirred
out of his bunk since eight bells," said the other. "It's the first
mate's orders; but, I reckon, it's the Senor's idea."

"Then we ain't goin' on to Mazatlan?"

"Not this trip, I reckon," said the third mate, joining them.

"Why?"

The third mate turned and pointed to leeward. The line of coast had
already sunk enough to permit the faint silhouette of a trail of smoke
to define the horizon line of sky.

"Steamer goin' in, eh?"

"Yes. D'ye see--it might be too hot, in there!"

"Then the jig's up?"

"No. Suthin's to be done--north of St. Lucas. Hush!"

He made a gesture of silence, although the conversation, since he had
joined them, had been carried on in a continuous whisper. A figure,
evidently a passenger, had appeared on deck. One or two of the
foreign-looking crew who had drawn near the group, with a certain undue
and irregular familiarity, now slunk away again.

The passenger was a shrewd, exact, rectangular-looking man, who had
evidently never entirely succumbed to the freedom of the sea either in
his appearance or habits. He had not even his sea legs yet; and as the
barque, with the full swell of the Pacific now on her weather bow, was
plunging uncomfortably, he was fain to cling to the 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