if our fascinating friend Mrs.Brimmer will permit us to use the words of her accomplished fellow-townsman, H.W.Longfellow, of Boston--we find ourselves borne not to the busy hum and clatter of modern progress, but to the soft cadences of a dying crusade, and the hush of ecclesiastical repose.In place of the busy marts of commerce and the towering chimneys of labor, we have the ruined embattlements of a warlike age, and the crumbling church of an ancient Mission.Towards the close of an eventful voyage, during which we have been guided by the skillful hand and watchful eye of that gallant navigator Captain Bunker, we have turned aside from our onward course of progress to look back for a moment upon the faded footprints of those who have so long preceded us, who have lived according to their lights, and whose record is now before us.
As I have just stated, our journey is near its end, and we may, in some sense, look upon this occasion, with its sumptuous entertainment, and its goodly company of gallant men and fair women, as a parting banquet.Our voyage has been a successful one.
I do not now especially speak of the daring speculations of the distinguished husband of a beautiful lady whose delightful society is known to us all--need I say I refer to Quincy Brimmer, Esq., of Boston" (loud applause)--"whose successful fulfillment of a contract with the Peruvian Government, and the landing of munitions of war at Callao, has checked the uprising of the Quinquinambo insurgents? I do not refer especially to our keen-sighted business friend Mr.Banks" (applause), "who, by buying up all the flour in Callao, and shipping it to California, has virtually starved into submission the revolutionary party of Ariquipa--I do not refer to these admirable illustrations of the relations of commerce and politics, for this, my friends--this is history, and beyond my feeble praise.Let me rather speak of the social and literary triumphs of our little community, of our floating Arcadia--may Isay Olympus? Where shall we find another Minerva like Mrs.
Markham, another Thalia like Miss Chubb, another Juno like Mrs.
Brimmer, worthy of the Jove-like Quincy Brimmer; another Queen of Love and Beauty like--like"--continued the gallant Senor, with an effective oratorical pause, and a profound obeisance to Miss Keene, "like one whose mantling maiden blushes forbid me to name?"(Prolonged applause.) "Where shall we find more worthy mortals to worship them than our young friends, the handsome Brace, the energetic Winslow, the humorous Crosby? When we look back upon our concerts and plays, our minstrel entertainments, with the incomparable performances of our friend Crosby as Brother Bones;our recitations, to which the genius of Mrs.M'Corkle, of Peoria, Illinois, has lent her charm and her manuscript" (a burlesque start of terror from Crosby), "I am forcibly impelled to quote the impassioned words from that gifted woman,--'When idly Life's barque on the billows of Time, Drifts hither and yon by eternity's sea;On the swift feet of verse and the pinions of rhyme My thoughts, Ulricardo, fly ever to thee!'""Who's Ulricardo?" interrupted Crosby, with assumed eagerness, followed by a "hush!" from the ladies.
"Perhaps I should have anticipated our friend's humorous question,"said Senor Perkins, with unassailable good-humor."Ulricardo, though not my own name, is a poetical substitute for it, and a mere figure of apostrophe.The poem is personal to myself," he continued, with a slight increase of color in his smooth cheek which did not escape the attention of the ladies,--"purely as an exigency of verse, and that the inspired authoress might more easily express herself to a friend.My acquaintance with Mrs.
M'Corkle has been only epistolary.Pardon this digression, my friends, but an allusion to the muse of poetry did not seem to me to be inconsistent with our gathering here.Let me briefly conclude by saying that the occasion is a happy and memorable one;I think I echo the sentiment of all present when I add that it is one which will not be easily forgotten by either the grateful guests, whose feelings I have tried to express, or the chivalrous hosts, whose kindness I have already so feebly translated."In the applause that followed, and the clicking of glasses, Senor Perkins slipped away.He mingled a moment with some of the other guests who had already withdrawn to the corridor, lit a cigar, and then passed through a narrow doorway on to the ramparts.Here he strolled to some distance, as if in deep thought, until he reached a spot where the crumbling wall and its fallen debris afforded an easy descent into the ditch.Following the ditch, he turned an angle, and came upon the beach, and the low sound of oars in the invisible offing.A whistle brought the boat to his feet, and without a word he stepped into the stern sheets.A few strokes of the oars showed him that the fog had lifted slightly from the water, and a green light hanging from the side of the Excelsior could be plainly seen.Ten minutes' more steady pulling placed him on her deck, where the second officer stood with a number of the sailors listlessly grouped around him.
"The landing has been completed?" said Senor Perkins interrogatively.
"All except one boat-load more, which waits to take your final instructions," said the mate."The men have growled a little about it," he added, in a lower tone."They don't want to lose anything, it seems," he continued, with a half sarcastic laugh.
Senor Perkins smiled peculiarly.
"I am sorry to disappoint them.Who's that in the boat?" he asked suddenly.
The mate followed the Senor's glance.
"It is Yoto.He says he is going ashore, and you will not forbid him."Senor Perkins approached the ship's side.
"Come here," he said to the man.
The Peruvian sailor rose, but did not make the slightest movement to obey the command.
"You say you are going ashore?" said Perkins blandly.
"Yes, Patrono."
"What for?"
