University of San Francisco - USF Don Yearbook (San Francisco, CA)

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22 THE IGNAT I AN “Italia.” “Then you are a Dago; you speak the lingo.” The face of the seaman clouded. It was plain that he felt the insult; yet he answered respectfully, “Parents, Italia; me Greek Islands.” “Have you ever been in Calcutta?” “Me?” The seaman’s eyes opened in astonishment and candor. “Me, Calcutta? Hong-Kong, Yokohama, si; Calcutta?” lie shook his head. “P’raps”, he said after a moment’s pause, “p’raps my cousin. Him mucha like me, only got plenty whisk’,” and his nimble hands were up all over and around his face. You could almost see the whiskers growing. “Vcr’ bad man. Ver’ bad man.” He lowered his voice and looked around in evident fear. “P’raps”, he said, “Carbonaro.” A load seemed lifted from the captains mind. Greek or no Greek this man had no sympathy with the Carbonari. He turned to the shipping master and said, “All right; I take the crew.” The roll was soon called; the shipping master took his leave; the Lady Louise was heading for the ocean. II. The day was ideal and cheering to the sailor’s heart, as under full sail the Lady Louise coquetted with the frolicsome swells of the ocean. Gracefully she rose and fell, seeming to enjoy her freedom as much as the jack-tars who were gathered here and there upon the deck. Captain and mate stood apart conversing. The Italian, too, was apart; in appearance, watching a sail on the distant horizon; in reality, conversing with himself in the recesses of his heart. He was smiling, though his smile was not good to sec. He was speaking in his native tongue. “Bah!” lie was saying, “how easily with my whiskered cousin I fooled the captain—my cousin safe and far away in

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THE DERELICT 21 “Tom Draak!” “Here!” A ponderous Swede shuffled across the deck. “Donald Me Angus !” A burly Scot followed to starboard. The captain regarded the paper carefully before he read the next. “Satan Carillo!” “Here!” responded a melodious voice, as a fine featured little Italian touched his cap, and, smiling pleasantly, joined the other two. Captain Bellnay glared alternately at the shipping master and at the cherubic owner of the sinister name. “What’s the idea?” he cried angrily, turning to the shipping master, “didn’t I tell you no Dagos need apply?” A shadow passed over the Italian’s face, only to vanish as quickly as it had come. “What do you expect on short notice?” returned the shipping master hotly. “You signed for sixteen men and you’ll take these sixteen men or lay over a day, and that’s that”, he concluded with decision. “Besides, this ain’t no Dago. He’s a Greek Islands.” “But his name is Dago”, objected the captain. “Now see here, Cap’n”, said the shipping master, “I ain’t got no time to fool. There’s lots of people as has names like his in America, and they’re just as good Americans as you or me. If you don’t want the crew, say so. There’s the ‘Belle Isle’ over there as’ll take ’em.” “Ask the man himself”, prompted the mate. The captain yielded to the suggestion. “Satan Carillo.” The seaman stepped forward. “Where were you born?” asked the captain. “Greek Islands,” was the ready answer. “Parents?”

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THE DERELICT 23 the galleys of Palermo! They say he was pardoned—bah they always say these things. How often must he have cursed those whiskers that sent him there—whiskers that I wore to fasten my deeds on him and get revenge! Let him eat his heart out.” The eyes of the Italian glistened. “He is there for life. I need not worry.” The scene in his mind had changed and brought him back to his reception on the Lady Louise, but his eyes still kept their fire. “Dago”, he muttered, “Dago. So they call us when they rob 11s. We are fine people, nice people, when we toil and slave and put our money in their banks—and when they fleece us—Dagos. But he knows we are on his track.” His eyes were fixed intently on the distant sail. The Italian had proved himself an excellent seaman. Quiet, prompt, respectful, he was possessed of a strength and endurance that seemed out of all proportion to his frame. He was a favorite with the mate and with the crew. No one dared impose upon him. He troubled no one. “Fine seaman, that”, said the mate, as he noticed the gaze of the captain intently fixed upon the quiet figure by the rail. “Been a great help to me. I ’m glad you took him.” “It was the mistake of my life”, said the captain slowly. But we are all fools sometimes. It is the last voyage for one or the other or both.” “Tut, tut, Cap’n”, said the mate. “I fear that you allow your dark fancies to get the better of you. I can’t for the life of me see why you dislike him.” “If your life were forfeited”, said the captain, “forfeited innocently;—but you may as well hear the story. Perhaps you can help me. There is an incident in my history of which I have never hitherto spoken. I was at one time the president of an Italian bank in New York. You will think it strange. So it was from many points of view, but not from one. That was my undoing. When the offer was made me, I laughed at the idea. I knew nothing of banking. So I