“No, sir. Talk French to the lubber, if you can.”
Walter could and did. The visitor replied in the same language, and his business was quickly settled. He was a revenue officer, as Tomlinson had surmised, and wanted to look at the yacht’s papers, which were quickly produced; although of what use they could be to a man who did not understand English, Walter could not determine. The officer looked at them a moment, with an air of profound wisdom, and then returning them with the remark that they were all right, touched his hat and sprang into his boat. As soon as he was clear of the side the yacht filled away again, Walter taking his stand upon the rail and looking out for a convenient place to moor his vessel; but there were but two small wharves in the harbor, and every berth seemed to be occupied. As he ran his eye along the brigs, barks and schooners, wondering if there were an American among them, his gaze suddenly became fastened upon a little craft which looked familiar to him. He was certain he had seen that black hull and those tall, raking masts before. He looked again, and in a voice which trembled in spite of all his efforts to control it, requested Eugene to hand him his glass.
“What’s the matter?” asked the crew in concert, crowding up to the rail. “What do you see?”
“He sees the Stella, and so do I!” exclaimed Bab, in great excitement.
“Yes, it is the Stella,” said Walter, so overjoyed at this streak of good fortune that he could scarcely speak. “Now, we’ll see if these Cuban revenue officers are as worthless as some of our own. But I say, Perk,” he added, his excitement suddenly increasing, “take this glass and tell me who those three persons are who are walking up the hill, just beyond the schooner.”
Perk leveled the glass, but had not held it to his eye long before his hand began to tremble, and his face assumed an expression much like that it had worn during his contest with the deserters, and while he was confronting Bayard Bell and his crowd. Without saying a word he handed the glass to Eugene, and settling his hat firmly on his head pushed back his coat sleeves. He acted as if he wanted to fight.
“They are Mr. Bell, the captain of the Stella, and—who is that walking between them? Fred Craven, as I live!” Eugene almost shouted.
“Now, listen to me a minute, and I’ll tell you what’s a fact,” said Perk, bringing his clenched fist down into the palm of his hand. “That’s just who they are.”
“Fred sees us, too,” continued Eugene. “He is looking back at us.”
“I didn’t think I could be mistaken,” said Walter. “Perk, keep your eye on them and see where they go. Stand by, fellows. When we reach the wharf make everything fast as soon as possible; and Eugene, you and Bab see if you can find that revenue officer. If you do, tell him the whole story, and take him on board the schooner. Perk and I will follow Fred, and Chase and Wilson will watch the yacht.”