The Sportsman's Club Afloat

by Harry Castlemon

And the trouble was not yet ended, if Walter had only known it. The deserters were not to be got rid of as easily as he imagined.

The storm was fully as violent as the young captain expected it would be. It might have been a great deal worse, but if it had been, the story of the Club’s adventures would not have been as long as we intend to make it. Walter had ample opportunity for the display of his seamanship, and if any faith is to be put in the word of the deserters, the yacht was well handled. These worthies, true to their promise, conducted themselves with the utmost propriety. They watched Walter pretty closely for the first few hours, but finding that he knew what he was doing, and that he had no intention of attempting to secure them, they gave themselves no further concern. They obeyed orders as promptly as if Walter had been their lawful captain, and treated the young yachtsmen with a great show of respect.

One day Tomlinson, in reply to a question from Walter, explained their presence on board the yacht. He and five companions belonged to the prize crew which had taken charge of the Banner after her capture by the cutter. While they were guarding the prisoners in the cabin, they learned from them that the yacht was bound for Lost Island, and that she would begin the voyage again as soon as the difficulty with the revenue captain was settled. Upon hearing this, Tomlinson and his friends, who had long been on the lookout for an opportunity to desert the cutter, concealed themselves in the hold, hoping to escape discovery until the Banner was once more outside the harbor of Bellville. They made their first attempt to gain the deck at the wrong time, as it proved, for Perk was on hand to defeat them. They knew that the young sailors had seen but two of their number, and when Walter opened the hatch and ordered them on deck, two of them obeyed, while the others remained behind, awaiting another opportunity to make a strike for their freedom. They never had any intention of taking the vessel out of the hands of her captain. All they wanted was to be on deck where they could see what was going on, and to have the assurance that they should be carried to Havana.

On the morning of the fifth day after leaving Bellville Cuba was in plain sight, and at noon the Banner, after passing several small islands, entered a little harbor about a hundred miles to the eastward of Havana. The Club were in a strange place and among a strange people, but the sight of the little town nestled among the hills was a pleasant one to their eyes. They were heartily tired of being tossed about on the Gulf, and longed to feel the solid ground under their feet once more. Their provisions were entirely exhausted, and where the next meal was coming from they had not the slightest idea. This, however, did not trouble them so much as the presence of the deserters. They had quite enough of their company. It was Walter’s intention to remain in the harbor until the wind and sea abated, and in the meantime to use every argument he could think of to induce the men to go ashore. The young captain was utterly discouraged. He had seen nothing of the schooner since the first day out, and he was not likely to see her again, for he had been blown a long way out of his course, and by the time he could reach Havana, Fred Craven would be shipped off to Mexico, and the schooner would have discharged her contraband cargo and be half way on her return voyage to Bellville.

“Captain, there’s an officer wants to come aboard,” said Tomlinson, breaking in upon his reverie.

Walter looked toward the shore and saw a boat putting off from the nearest wharf, and a man dressed in uniform standing in the stern waving his handkerchief. “Who is he?” asked the young captain.

“One of them revenue fellers, I guess. These chaps are very particular.”

“I am glad to hear it, for if we can find that schooner we may be able to induce them to examine her.”

The yacht was thrown up into the wind, and in a few minutes the officer came on board—a fierce-looking Spaniard, with a mustache which covered all the lower part of his face, and an air as pompous as that of the revenue captain. He touched his hat to Walter, and addressed some words to him which the latter could not understand.

“I hope there’s nothing wrong,” said the commander, anxiously. “I may have violated some of the rules of the port, for I am like a cat in a strange garret here. Tomlinson, can you speak his lingo?”