“Shure ’tis thrue ye’re sp’akin’ Manny,” replied Mike in relieved tones, “an Oim a blessed phool fer thinkin’ Misther Potter’s a lan’ lubber for to be a-sthartin’ out in the tathe av a storrm. Faith though, but ’twill be a sorrer sight for thim to say whin they come. An’ not a say iliphant in sight. B’ Saint Pathrick Oi belave the storrm’s afther drowndin’ av thim all.”
Then, ordering his men to pick up everything they could and to endeavor to get some order out of chaos, the bo’sun with the cook and one man turned to the demolished hut and endeavored to rebuild it so it would be fit for occupancy when the boat returned. They were still busily engaged at this two days later when a shout from one of the men interrupted them, and gazing seaward they saw a sail above the horizon. For a time they could not determine whether it was approaching or not, but it was a square-rigged vessel beyond a doubt and when, after half an hour of steadfast watching through the glasses, Mike knew that it was heading towards the island, he shouted, “B’ gorra, lads, ’tis the Hector! Shure she’s ahid o’ toime a wake an’ more. ’Tis good luck she must’a’ been afther havin’. Three cheers, me hearties! ’Tis homeward boun’ we’ll be to-morrer!”
But scarcely had the three hearty cheers died down when Mike’s countenance fell, for through the binoculars he could now see that it was not the Hector but a brigantine.
“Worra be!” he bemoaned. “’Tis disapp’intment, me lads! ’Tis a brig b’gorra! Now phwat does he want here, at all, at all?”
Rapidly the oncoming vessel approached and presently all could see that it was a small brigantine and by her build and rig they knew it was not an American ship.
“Phwat in blazes arre the furriners a-buttin’ in here fer!” demanded Mike and, addressing no one in particular, “Shure ’tis throuble enough we’re afther havin’ av our own. An’ if it’s afther say iliphants they be, ’tis none they’ll be foindin’, an’ if they wuz ’tis divvil a bit Oi’d be afther lettin’ av thim sthop here. B’gob, ain’t they islan’s enough an’ to sphare widtout a-callin’ on us wid no invetashun?”
Curious as to why the stranger should be making for the island, for she flew no signals, the men had ceased their work and stood gathered near the hut watching the brig.
“Mebbe he come for get da ’ile,” suggested Manuel. “Eef he see we here firs’, mos’ like he go da other islan’.”
“Faith an’ he will, thot!” declared Mike. “’Tis two’s a crowd here. Well b’jabbers we’ll soon be afther knowin’. He’s dhroppin’ av his anchor.”
Hardly had the brig swung to her anchor before a boat was lowered and manned, and six men came rapidly shoreward.