“Give me the glass, old fellow!” demanded one of his comrades—a rough-looking sailor.
“Yes, give it to Brace, Bill—he’s got a long sight.”
The man surrendered the glass, as requested; and Brace, placing it to his eye, looked silently and steadily through it. I could have heard my companion’s heart heating, had it not been for the thumping of my own. How eagerly we waited for the words of Brace! They came at length—words of gold!
“Ye be right, Bill—there ur somethin’ wrong—there’s a paddle broke—I sees ’em on the wheel-house—yes, that’s it.”
“They’ll put back again!” suggested one.
“Sartin to do,” drawled Brace, “they are putting back—they’re getting the cripple round now as fast as she can come. Now she comes this way. Make ready your ropes, boys—more grog, and plenty o’ keelhaulin’!”
The reaction of feeling produced by these words, in the minds of my companion and myself, cannot be described; and it was sustained by the evidence of our own eyes—for, the moment after, we could make out that it was the steamer’s head that was towards us, and that she was slowly but certainly making up the bay—back to the landing from which she had just taken her departure.
There was something almost astounding in this occurrence. It seemed as if Providence itself had a hand in the event.
We did not allow our excited feelings to hinder us from taking some cautionary steps necessary to the carrying out of our design. There was time enough for us to reach the office of the nearest justice, and arm ourselves with the authority for an arrest; and before the steamer had reached the wharf, we were on the spot with two plainclothes policemen, anxious for action. They scented large game, and consequently a rich reward.
They had soon an opportunity of earning it; for, in a few minutes after, we were aboard, and Monsieur Jacques Despard was in handcuffs!