“Don’t seem to.”
“Then,” said he, and cast a droll look of derision upon the midget cannon and the immense steamer, “sink her!”
With the third shot, however, we could see the steamer begin to turn, and in a little while she was headed toward us. We could not move and so we waited, while the anxious pinochler walked the deck. Long before she was near he ordered the yawl ready, and when she was yet three-quarters of a mile off, cast over and jumped aboard. He seemed somewhat afraid the yawl would not be seen, and so took along with him a pilot flag, which was a square of blue cloth fastened to a long bamboo pole. This he held aloft as the men rowed, and away they went far over the green sea.
The cook served coffee at three, and was preparing supper when another steamer was sighted. She came up rapidly, a great liner from Gibraltar, with a large company of Italians looking over the rail.
“No supper for you,” said Germond. “You’ll have to eat with the Dagos.”
“Oh, I don’t mind,” returned the other, smiling. “I want to get back to New York.”
Just before supper, and when the sun was crimsoning the water in the west, a “catspaw” came up and filled our sails. The boat moved slowly off. At supper Germond announced:
“Well, I go now.”
“Is there a steamer?”
“No, but I go on the other pilot-boat. I see her over there. The last man always leaves his boat and goes on one with more men. That allows this boat to go back for another crew.”