“Yes, sar! No, sar!” exclaimed the assistant excitedly. “Dey no pay nuttin’.”
“All right,” said Jack calmly. “We’ll go aboard and collect for it then.”
“All canoes out fishin’ 'cept dat one,” exclaimed the negro, pointing to the one carrying the sailors back to the schooner.
“We’ll wait for that one, then,” replied Jack.
The two sat down on the beach to wait. The negro said nothing. He knew Jack too well to try and dissuade him from his purpose, so he kept his own counsel.
The canoe ran alongside the schooner, and having discharged its passengers and freight, put off for its return to shore. Then the schooner’s sails began to slide up the stays; the canvas aloft began to flatten out to the pull of the sheets. The schooner was preparing to get under way.
The canoe had now reached the beach and Jack and the black assistant climbed in. Then they put off toward the schooner.
As the canoe bounded forward, Jack suddenly caught the sound of the schooner’s windlass pawl. The anchor was being hove up.
The natives in the canoe bent to the work. The canoe swept alongside the schooner and Jack, grasping a chain, swung himself up into the channel, whence he climbed to the bulwark rail and dropped down on the deck.
The windlass was manned by five men, plainly Italians. A sixth was seated on the deck nearby.