“Below, there!”
“Ay, ay,” cried Davie Drake.
“Sail in sight.”
“Where away?”
“Just rounding the eastern point. Now she has her helm down, and is steering directly for the bay.”
“A long, low, black barque, all sail set, and studsails low and aloft. Masts have a bit of a rake. Oh, she is a beauty.”
Davie Drake was by this time coming hand over hand up the tree, and it was not long before both boys came to the conclusion that the barque must belong to Captain Antonio, and to no one else.
They came down below now quickly enough, and soon stood once more on terra firma.
Then off they trotted down hill, and were at the pier-head just as the anchor was let go, the cable rattling and roaring overboard, and the barque swinging to the tide.