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Updated: May 5, 2025
He rested one hand on the Blanco's guard rail and took the pipe out of his mouth with the other. "Hello, MacRae," he said, as casually as a man would address another with whom he had slight acquaintance. "I've got some fish. D'you want 'em?" MacRae looked down at him. He did not want Gower's fish or anything that was Gower's. He did not want to see him or talk to him.
As Benton paced the ledge impatiently, awaiting the outcome of Blanco's reconnoiter, he noticed with a nauseating sense of onrushing peril how the purpled shadows of the mountains were lengthening across the valley and beginning to creep up the other side. Each time his pacing brought him to the edge of the clearing he paused to look down at the sullen walls of Karyl's castle.
"My father was postmaster in our city," she said, simply, "under the last administration, President Blanco's, you know, and he made me one of his clerks, of course, when he'd gotten the place; and as long as the fun went on, I saved all my salary for a tour in Europe." "And at the end of four years?" Lucy said. "Our party went out," Melissa put in, confidentially.
He went down and slid the old green dugout afloat and so gained the deck of his vessel. For an hour thereafter he worked steadily until all the salmon were delivered and stowed in the Blanco's chilly hold. He found it hard to keep his mind on the count of salmon, on money to be paid each man, upon these common details of his business.
When the French steamer "Canada" arrived, Mr. Michael Chalmette, wearing the uniform and badge of a Custom House officer, stationed himself by the gang-plank and narrowly scrutinized each passenger that came ashore. While Blanco's trunks were being examined, he stood near that gentleman, and furtively compared his features with those on a photograph.
MacRae skippered the new and shining Blanco, brave in white paint and polished brass on her virgin trip. He followed the main fleet, while the Bluebird scuttled about to pick up stray trollers' catches and to tend the rowboat men. She would dump a day's gathering on the Blanco's deck, and the two crews would dress salmon till their hands were sore.
He started joshin' Doug. You know what a crab old Doug is. He got crusty as blazes. Old Gower just grinned at him and rowed off." MacRae made no comment, and their talk turned into other channels until Vin hauled his hook and bore away. MacRae saw to dropping the Blanco's anchor. He would lie there till dusk. Then he sat in the shade again, looking up at the Gower cottage.
If this semi-official statement of Admiral Cervera's case is an accurate one, the Santiago campaign, which ended in the destruction of Cervera's fleet and the capture of the city, was the direct result of General Blanco's interference.
Blanco's expressive face mirrored a shade of resentment. He had come on summons from the King and found himself listening to the familiar, even disrespectful, chatter of some underling who laughed at his Monarch and lightly appraised the value of his life while he smoked cigarettes in the Royal apartments. The Spaniard bowed stiffly.
They told him that. "If somebody else offered sixty cents you'd sell to him, wouldn't you?" MacRae asked a dozen of them sitting on the Blanco's deck one afternoon. They had been talking about canneries and competition. "Not if he was boosting the price up just to make you quit, and then cut it in two when he had everything to himself," one man said. "That's been done too often."
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