In another instant he and the mate had pulled off their shoes and clothes and slipped noiselessly into the dark flowing river through the open port. I entered the master's berth, in which a candle-lamp was burning, and looked at the paper that the Captain had given me. It read:
"My cabin-boy was innocent of the character of the Dragon when he signed articles.
"Roland Ward, Master."
Slaver, pirate, or any other hard name you may call him, there was something noble in the man who could think of others at such a time, and sacrifice even a few precious, fleeting moments to insure the safety of a poor little cabin-boy.
A few minutes later a naval officer, followed by several blue-jackets well armed, descended the companion-way and asked for the Captain. In order to gain time for the two men, whom I knew to be at that instant swimming for their lives, I handed him the note. He glanced over it, thrust it in his pocket, and exclaimed:
"This will keep for the present. Where is the Captain?"
I answered that he was not in the cabin.
"WHERE IS THE CAPTAIN?" HE REPEATED, IMPATIENTLY.
"Where is the Captain?" he repeated, impatiently.