“I see it,” replied Greenwood. “Haul down the jib, and back the fore-topsail!”
The necessary orders were given in detail, and in a few moments the three vessels of the fleet were lying almost motionless on the sea. Greenwood took a glass from the beckets at the companion-way, and proceeded to a make a survey of the situation ahead. But there was nothing to be seen except the mole, and the high fortified hill of Monjuich on the mainland, across the harbor.
“Where are your pilots, Raimundo?” asked Scott of the second master; and both of them were off duty at this time.
“You won’t see any pilots yet awhile,” replied the young Spaniard.
“Are they all asleep?”
“Do you think they will be weak enough to come on board before the health officers have given their permission for the vessels to enter the harbor?” added Raimundo. “If they did so they would be sent into quarantine themselves.”
“They are prudent, as they ought to be,” added Scott. “I suppose you begin to feel at home about this time; don’t you, Don Raimundo?”
“Not half so much at home as I do when I am farther away from Spain,” replied the second master, with a smile that seemed to be of a very doubtful character.
“Why, how is that?” asked Scott. “This is Spain, the home of your parents, and the land that gave you birth.”