It was tedious work, and a couple of hours passed before, pale and spirit-like at first, the other cutter came into sight in the pale moonlight, followed by the sloop, when the American had the lugger’s grapnel hauled up and ran his boat alongside of the first cutter.
“Look here,” he said angrily, “yewr skipper’s just making a fool of me, and I may as well run ashore to my plantation, for we shan’t do no good to-night.”
The man’s words were repeated when the sloop came up, and a short discussion followed, which resulted in the captain changing his orders.
“The man’s honest enough, Anderson,” he said, “and I must trust him.”
“What do you mean to do, then, sir?” said the first lieutenant, in a low tone.
“Let him pilot us to where the slaver lies.”
“With the lead going all the time, sir?”
“Of course, Mr Anderson,” said the captain shortly. “Do you think me mad?”
“I beg your pardon, sir,” replied the chief officer. “Perhaps it will be best.”
It proved to be best so far as the American’s temper was concerned, for upon hearing the captain’s decision, he took his place at the tiller of his lugger and led the way up the great river, followed by the stately sloop, whose lead as it was lowered from time to time told the same unvarying tale of deep water with a muddy bottom, while as the river’s winding course altered slightly, the width as far as it could be made out by the night glasses gave at least a couple of miles to the shore on either hand.