The steamer while mature in years was not an old hulk, by any means—Beven had himself once served on her as second officer during a voyage to Singapore, and he had reason to commend her seaworthy qualities.
As to her present outfit he believed it was mostly English and Swedes, though there might be a few Spanish among them.
The captain was an ancient tar, a dare devil who had seen service all over the earth, been engaged in South American naval wars, was with China in her conflict against Japan, and bore the scars of a dozen wounds.
Such a man, afraid of nothing on earth, made an ideal blockade runner.
The bold Yankees would find that they did not quite monopolize all the valor on earth with their Hobsons and Deweys.
There were others, of the same strain and speech, whom no danger could daunt.
This was Captain Beven's tribute to the commander of the blockade runner.
Roderic was not sorry to hear it, since she would be safer in the charge of such a wonderful seaman.
He went down to dinner in this state of anxiety, but under the lively sallies of his cousin soon recovered his usual good spirits. Cleo could arouse him more quickly than any one else he knew—she seemed to appeal to some chord in his composition which responded just as the harp does to the touch of the musician. When they came on deck again after dinner, the little steam yacht was just entering the harbor.