The Captain, never very good-tempered at the best of times, is especially peppery to-day.
"Are you runnin' this ship, young man, or am I?" He seems to think he has made a forcible and irrefutable rejoinder and turns away like one who has settled something forever.
"I vill spik vidth you inside." The Baron sets down his small valise and follows the apparently unheeding Captain into the saloon. We stand undecided, looking down at the lighter shifting about in the breakers, and watching a stout Mexican get into a huge barrel that has one side cut down and a seat fitted in—a rope with huge iron hook attached is lowered from a pulley on the steamer, and the barrel full of San José official is lifted into the air. The barrel twirls about, the official puts his hand to his eyes, and in a moment he is landed like a mammoth fish on the deck of the San Miguel.
We hear the voices in the saloon rising with anger. Mrs. Steele looks apprehensive and makes a step towards the door. Out strides the Baron, looking hot and excited.
"Ladies, ve vill go. I promise you ve vill be back in time."
Already the crowd is lessened and some have given up going even to San José, and several have made the trip in the barrel and are safely landed in the lighter.
"I think we won't run any risk," says Mrs. Steele gently, "though we can go to San José, of course."
"Madame, I do assure you," and the Baron is most emphatic, "if you vill trust to go vidth me I see dthat you come safe back before San Miguel sails."
The second mate comes up with an amused look.
"You ladies jest go 'long; th' Cap'n's alwus like that; nobuddy minds. We can't get away under two days, and he knows it. We ain't 'lowed to leave under forty-eight hours on 'count o' passengers from the coast."