After this we remained as quiet as mice, hardly daring to breathe. We heard loud talking, partly in Spanish and a few words in very bad English. “I know they are here,” growled one Spaniard. “We shall make a large hunt, capitan.”
“If you insist, I cannot help myself,” answered Captain Brownley. “But it is a most unusual proceeding.”
At this the Spaniard muttered something in his own language. He began to hunt in one direction, while his followers hunted in another. Soon two of the men came to the pantry and forced the door. We tried to escape observation, but could not manage it, and were ordered forth at the point of several long pistols.
“Ha! as I suspected! All Americanos!” muttered the Spanish commander of the revenue cutter. “A fine haul! A fine haul, indeed!”
Then turning to his second in command he issued orders that some irons be brought on board. At the same time a dozen Spanish marines from the cutter were formed in line, with loaded carbines, to cover the crew of the Rosemary.
“I place all of you under arrest,” said the Spanish captain. “You”—pointing to my father, Burnham, Mr. Raymond, and myself—“as spies; and you and your men”—this to Captain Brownley—“as enemies of Spain, assisting these spies to escape.”
In vain Captain Brownley tried to argue the matter. The Spanish commander would not listen to a word. “The Yankee pigs have declared war on us!” he burst out at last. “Now let them take care of themselves.”
“Then war is really declared?” came from several of us simultaneously.
“Yes, war has been declared. More than that, we have already whipped the Yankee pigs who dared to attack our noble ships in the Philippines,” said the Spaniard bombastically.