“For my part, nothing would please me better; but our Captain has said that to-morrow he will sail, and he is a very devil—diavolo—eh?”
“You speak idly, my friend. I assure you to-morrow this ship of yours will be seized.”
“How so, Lieutenant? We have no quarrel with Portugal; and, moreover, there is no craft here that could overhaul us.”
“Not here at present, señor, but it is coming.”
“Your glass is empty, Lieutenant. Is this a British ship you speak of?—for I know none other that could capture us.”
“There are other ships than British afloat,” said the officer, twirling his moustache. “The ship I speak of flies the Brazilian flag: the Esperanza sloop of war, which, providentially, left Lisbon two days since, and may be here at any hour. She was advised of the escape of your boat from the Thames, and has warned us to be on the watch. Juarez is her commander, and I tell you he also is a devil. Ha! ha!”
“I perceive,” said Webster, with a laugh, “you have been too smart for us. We English are sometimes very dull.”
“Truly, mon ami, in quickness of wit, as in matters of love, we of the South are superior to you heavy islanders. But you are good comrades, nevertheless. Your health, señor.”
“I see the bottle’s empty. Pardon me, Lieutenant, while I overhaul the locker.” Webster, with an innocent look on his bronzed face, went below and sent a message to the Captain.
“Sir,” he said, as the Captain approached, “there is a Brazilian sloop of war in pursuit of us. She may be here to-night, or in the morning.”