Webster did so, and could not forbear chaffing Lieutenant Gobo. “We are no match for you, Lieutenant, in resource, but you see we are having our own way.”
“Matre de Dios!” cried the Lieutenant, grinding his teeth, “you will pay for this, you base picaro!” and he shot a vengeful glance at Webster and Hume, who stood close by, their faces black with coal-dust.
Little did they dream that Gobo would make good his threat.
The tug waited for its boat, then steamed away towards the harbour at great speed, Colonel Alvaro and Lieutenant Gobo shouting a string of threats as to what they would do on their return.
Mr Dixon reported that the bunkers were filled.
“Stack a row of sacks along the sides, and have them lashed. Get a full head of steam up. Mr Webster, cast this boat off from the port side.”
Soon the steam from the escape pipe set up its shrill clamour.
The Captain mounted to the bridge, and with his night glass fixed to his eye searched the mouth of the harbour.
“See that row of lights, Captain?” said Miss Laura.
“A steamer just entering the harbour.”