Then I was able to give something of a guess as to why the yacht was illuminated. I had been expecting visitors to join me here, and the steamer had arrived in unusually quick time, ahead of her schedule.
Those were matters that gave me very little concern just then.
A man cannot be expected to take much notice of future social engagements when a noisy pack of enraged citizens is in full cry at his heels—and they were coming along in quite fine style, I assure you, a genuine mob, such as I had read about in stories of Paris under the Reign of Terror, men and women vying with each other in the savage shout of:
“Muerta los Gringoes!”
It was rather thrilling, but decidedly unpleasant, all the same.
What we wanted now was a boat, and we needed it badly, too.
Little we cared what kind of a boat it was, so long as it would comfortably hold the crowd and allow of decent progress through the water.
There was none at the exact spot where we burst upon the shore.
Hence, it became necessary that we keep up our jog trot until we met the object of which we were in search.
In starting along the water line, we were careful to head toward the levee, where the business of the port was carried on, passengers and freight landed from steamers, and where any number of boats of all sizes and descriptions would be found, day and night.