“They think we are lying to on account o’ their guns,” said the man; “but only wait till we ketch the wind.”
“Do you think they know these vessels are—”
“Smugglers?” said the cook, for Vince had not finished the sentence. “Ay, they know fast enough, and they think they’re in luck, and have dropped upon a strong dose of prize money; but they don’t know old Jarks.”
“Will he fight?” said Mike excitedly. “Is these pokers getting red-hot?” said the man, grinning. “Ay, he’ll fight. He’s a Frenchy, but he’s got the fighting stuff in him. ’Course he’ll run. He don’t want to fight, but if that cutter makes him, he will. My! I wish the wind would come.”
But though the cutter came merrily along, hardly a puff reached the smugglers, and the cutter was now not more than a mile away.
“Look! look!” cried Mike suddenly. “There’s old Joe Daygo coming.”
“So it is,” said Vince. “No mistaking the cut of that sail;” and he gazed excitedly at the little boat, which was coming rapidly on from the other end of the island.
“Ay, that’s he sure enough,” said the cook. “He’s seen the cutter and come to give us warning, but we can see her ourselves now.”
Still no wind, and the captain stamped up and down the deck, enraged beyond measure to see two vessels in totally opposite directions sailing merrily on, while the towering crag diverted the breeze and left him and his companion in a complete calm.
Nearer and nearer came the cutter, and the boys’ hearts beat hard with excitement as they saw the flash of arms beneath the white sails, and began to feel that before long they would be on board, and that meant freedom.