“I feel sure of it. The schooner has run into some of the little bays of the coast, and is now doubtless lying within a few miles of us. This night she will make a second attempt.”
“And will find the Bay empty.”
“Certainly. In two hours I shall be ready to heave up the anchor, warp the brig well up with the entrance to the Bay, and profit by the breeze, which generally blows from the eastward after sunset.”
“It would be necessary to move on another account, Captain Weber.”
“Ay, ay; forty-eight hours would bring some of those fellows up from the bottom bobbing about us, the big chap whose skull I scratched, among the rest.”
“He gave you some trouble, did he not?”
“I should have mastered him single handed,” replied the old seaman, “if I had not been trampled on and crushed by both parties. I never quite lost consciousness, but I was very near it when the big villain dashed away on to the quarter-deck.”
“Mr Lowe,” continued the captain, “heave up the anchor, and let me know when you are ready for the warp.”
“Ay, ay, sir,” replied the mate, whose left arm was in a sling, going forward.
Captain Hughes, his arms folded, was leaning over the taffrail, when the clink of the capstan made itself heard, as the sailors shipped the bars, and to the merry tones of the flute began heaving up the anchor. Dom Maxara was standing erect beside him, his tall figure and noble bearing telling of a proud and haughty nature.