“But then there is the brig, and there are two or three schooners in addition,” observed Desmond. “Though we don’t see them as they are some way up the harbour, they’re sure to come down to help their consort.”
“We must settle her first, and then tackle them,” said Higson. “It is probable, however, that the commodore will knock under, and not give us the opportunity of showing what we can do.”
“I would rather see Miss O’Regan, and Rogers, and Gordon, with the old colonel safe first,” said Desmond. “I am afraid that the commodore will be ill-treating them in revenge should we give his vessels a drubbing. The consul seems somewhat of a slow coach, or he would have found out what had happened long ago, and applied for our liberation.” The breeze carried the boat which was standing in under sail swiftly on.
“She’s a fine craft, and has eight guns on a side,” observed Higson, as they got close to the corvette.
The sail was lowered, and a voice hailed in Spanish to know what they wanted. Higson, who guessed the meaning of the hail, standing up, pointed to the British ensign astern, and said that he had despatches to deliver. No rope was however hove to them, nor was the side manned; so, followed by Desmond and Needham in no very dignified fashion, he scrambled on board.
“There’s the commodore,” said Desmond, pointing to a middle-aged, gaunt-looking Don who was walking the deck with his cocked hat stuck ferociously on one side, “and that fat officer is our friend the first lieutenant. If they don’t know how to be civil, we’ll show them,” and stepping aft, he made them both a profound bow, and introduced Higson. The Dons instinctively took off their hats, unable to withstand the influence of the young midshipman’s politeness. Higson handed his despatches to the commodore who opened the envelope, but, unable to read English, he turned to his first lieutenant, and asked him the meaning of the paper. The latter confessed his inability to make it out; for though he spoke a little English he was unable to read it, as was possibly the case with regard to his own language. Higson therefore explained that the despatches came from the commander of the man-of-war outside the harbour, who requested that the British subjects now held in captivity by the Carthagenans might at once be delivered up to him. The commodore, to whom the lieutenant interpreted what Higson said, replied that he could not give an immediate reply; that the despatch being written in English he could not comprehend it; and as to delivering up the prisoners, that was a matter on which his Government must decide.—He had therefore no reply to make to the English officer, who must take the consequences should he venture into the harbour. This was the sum total of the answer given by the commodore, through his first lieutenant, though it took a considerable time to deliver.
“Tell the commodore, then,” said Higson, “that as this is a friendly port my commander will certainly come into it as he wishes to communicate with our consul, to whom he intends rendering assistance in obtaining the liberation of the prisoners.”
“What does he mean by that?” exclaimed the commodore, when the answer was interpreted to him. “If he attempts to use force, he will find that the honour of those in whose veins flows the pure blood of Castille is not to be trifled with;” and the Don stamped, and fumed, and strutted about the deck, drawing his sword and flourishing it over his head as if his ship was about that moment to be boarded by the English.
Desmond, reckless of the consequences which might have ensued, burst into a fit of laughter.
“What does the boy mean?” exclaimed the commodore, advancing with threatening gestures towards him.