“Quite impossible to tell, my dear sir, without possessing a copy of the Spanish Naval signal-book,” answered Milsom. “Each navy has its own private code of signals, which no man can read unless he has access to the official signal-book. No; that is no good. Is there no spot ashore from which one can get a good view of the offing?”
“Nothing nearer, I am afraid, than Punta Brava; and that is quite two miles from the landing-place by the shortest possible cut,” answered Don Hermoso. “One could not walk there and back in much less than an hour and a half, in this heat; and to drive there would, I am afraid, be almost as imprudent as running down to the harbour’s mouth in the steam pinnace.”
“Quite,” answered Milsom. “But”—as he leaned out over the rail and glanced up at the yacht’s funnel, which he could thus just see clear of the awning—“we might slip our moorings and go out in the yacht, if you like, Señor. I see that we have steam enough to move; and we are free to go to sea at any moment, now, you know.”
“So I understand,” answered Don Hermoso. “Yet I think we had better remain where we are a little longer; for I am anxious to assure myself, before starting on our trip, that the Potter has succeeded in landing her cargo and getting away safely. And if we were to go to sea just now we should be obliged to proceed on our voyage, I think; we could advance no good reason for hanging about outside and watching the movements of strange craft.”
“No, no, of course not; I quite see your point,” agreed Milsom. “It would undoubtedly be better to remain where we are for an hour or two longer, and see how the affair eventually develops. But I wouldn’t mind betting that that signal had some reference to the American boat, for see how furiously they are firing up aboard the cruiser.”
They were indeed firing up “furiously”, as Milsom had said; for dense clouds of black smoke were now continuously pouring and billowing out of both funnels of the cruiser, to the outspoken scorn and derision of Macintyre, who had his own ideas upon the subject of “firing”, his theory being that to make steam quickly, and keep it when made, one should “fire” lightly and continuously.
Meanwhile the preparations for going to sea were progressing apace aboard the cruiser, the boats being all hoisted in except one, which, with a couple of hands in her, was hanging on to the buoy to which the cruiser was moored, in readiness to unshackle the cable from the mooring ring so soon as the vessel had steam enough to enable her to move. The bells of the shipping in the harbour were chiming eight—which in this case meant noon—when the first white feather of steam began to play about the tops of the cruiser’s steam pipes; and at the sight the watchers on board the yacht stirred in their chairs and assumed a more alert attitude, for further developments might now be looked for.
They came—within the next five minutes—the first of them being the sudden lowering of the captain’s gig aboard the cruiser, the hurried descent of her crew into her by way of the davit tackles, and the hauling of her alongside the hastily lowered gangway. A moment later an officer stepped into the stern-sheets; and, with the naval ensign of Spain snapping in the breeze at her stern, and her boat pennant trailing from the staff in her bows, she shoved off and dashed away toward the landing steps, with her eight oarsmen bending their backs and making their good ash blades spring almost to breaking-point, as though their very lives depended upon their speed. She swept past the Thetis within a biscuit’s toss, and the party on the top of that vessel’s deck-house were not only able to distinguish, by the gold braid on his coat cuffs, that the solitary occupant of the stern-sheets held the rank of captain, but also that the poor man looked worried and scared almost out of his senses. Just before coming abreast of the yacht, which of course had her club ensign and burgee flying, the boat swerved slightly from her course, and for a moment it looked almost as though she intended to run alongside; but the next moment she straightened up again and went on her way toward the landing steps, the “brass bounder” in her stern just touching the peak of his uniform cap with his finger tips in acknowledgment of Jack’s and Milsom’s courtesy salute. Two minutes later her crew tossed oars and she swept up alongside the landing steps and hooked on; the skipper next moment springing up the steps and disappearing in the crowd of idlers who had gathered at the head of the steps.
Two bells came, and with it the stewards to lay the table for second breakfast, or luncheon, on the yacht’s deck-house; and as three bells struck, the little party drew in round the “hospitable board” and sat down to their mid-day meal. They had just about finished when Milsom, who was sitting facing the town and wharf, put down his glass somewhat emphatically on the table, and, rising to his feet, exclaimed: “Now, what does this mean?”
“What does what mean?” demanded Jack, also rising to his feet and facing in the direction toward which the skipper was looking. “Phew!” he whistled; “the plot thickens! Surely it is not possible that we were seen last night, Phil, eh?”