The carpenter and his men were meanwhile hard at work at the copper sheathing, making such progress that they were busy with their saws, dividing plank and trenail and working their way round the hole by the time the tide had risen sufficiently to drive them back, and then the Count and his party grouped themselves as best they could about their old quarters, looking despondently at what seemed like the beginning of a very hopeless wreck, a good deal of confidence being needed on their part to feel that all would come right in the end.
Fortunately the tide during the next two or three days did not rise so high, and good progress was made, while, thanks to the way in which the French crew had worked, the damage done by the water as it flowed in through the gap that was made was principally confined to its leaving a thick deposit of mud.
The doctor tried all he could to persuade the Count to take up his abode upon the schooner, and offered to accommodate as many men as he liked to bring with him, but he would not hear of it, and, as Rodd said laughingly to Morny, insisted upon living all upon one side and climbing instead of walking about the deck.
Then all at once there was a surprise. It was on the third day, when Joe Cross and his mate had called in the aid of a couple more to help drag the ponderous roughed-out piece of crooked timber to the waterside ready for the carpenter and his men to work into shape with their adzes, and while the latter were slaving away at high pressure to get all possible done before they were stopped by the tide, that, in obedience to a shout from Captain Chubb, all the men of the schooner’s crew hurried to their boat to get on board, while those of the brig hurried to their arms ready for any emergency. For coming up with the tide and round a bend of the river, a large three-masted schooner made its appearance with what seemed to be quite a large crew of well-armed men clustering forward, and apparently surprised at seeing that the river had its occupants already there.
“What do you make of them, sir?” shouted the skipper through his speaking trumpet.
“A foreigner—Spanish, I think,” shouted back the Count, after lowering his spy-glass. “Same here, sir. Slaver, I think.” The fact of her proving to be a slaver did not mean that an attack was looming in the future, but slaving vessels upon the West Coast of Africa bore a very bad reputation, and the preparations that were rapidly made did not promise much of a welcome.
As the stranger drew near it was evident that busy preparations were being made there too, but in his brief colloquy with Uncle Paul the skipper grunted out that he did not think the foreign vessel meant to attack, but to be ready to take care of herself in case the English schooner tried to surprise her and make her a prize.
“We ought to have taken the boat,” he said, “and gone up. It seems to me that there must be a town up there somewhere—savage town, of course, belonging to some chief, for it aren’t likely that there can be three of us all coming out here into this river on a scientific cruise. Two’s curious enough, English and French, but a Spaniel won’t do at all. For that’s what she is, sir, plain enough. Well, if she means fight, sir, you mean business, I suppose?”
“Of course,” said the doctor sternly; “and I am quite sure that we can depend upon the Count’s help.”
“Ay, ay, sir; but it’s a bad job the brig can’t manoeuvre at all.”