"That's so, I declare!" exclaimed the British officer, lowering his glass. "I might have known it. It's the old grudge between England and Spain. No wonder the Yankees get away from us as they do. All the American colonies are in league together against all Europe. We'll hunt down that Yankee schooner, though, in spite of 'em. Humph! To be snubbed in this way by the skipper of a Barcelona trader! I'll report him! What's the world coming to!"
The Santa Teresa, under very light canvas, was now making her slow way to her wharf, to which her arrival signals had already summoned a growing throng of expectant people. Among these, of course, were the mercantile men who were interested in the ship and her cargo, and many more were the friends and relatives of her crew and passengers. Besides these, there were naval, military, and custom-house officials, and persons who were eager for the latest news from Europe.
As the Santa Teresa floated nearer, hats and handkerchiefs began to wave on board and on the shore. The first words that were sent landward, however, were in the tremendously excited treble of old Señora Paez.
"Praise God!" she called out. "Praise to Our Lady! We were rescued from the pirates! We were saved from death by an American privateer! God bless the Americans and give them their freedom!"
Little she knew and less she cared that her enthusiastic utterances were heard by loyal subjects of the king of England. Hardly a cable's length away was anchored a stout corvette of twenty-eight guns, whose officers and men, up to that moment, had been observing the new arrival quite listlessly.
Instantly, now, there began a stir on board of her, and a boat prepared to put off to the Santa Teresa upon an errand of inquiry. Before it could be lowered, however, the corvette herself was hailed by a boat from the Tigress.
"Up anchor, is it? Yankee trader outside?" was half angrily thrown back at that boat's message. "Ay, ay! we're coming. You may tell Captain Frobisher it isn't any trader. It's one of those Connecticut pirates. We've learned that right here.—All hands away! Up anchor, lieutenant! That old woman has told us what we're going to do."
Swiftly indeed the questions and answers were exchanging between the crowded wharf and the thrilling news-bringers on the Santa Teresa. Loud and repeated were the cheers for los Americanos and their plucky little cruiser. The British consul at Porto Rico was one of the listeners, and he muttered discontentedly:—
"The rebels will get all the help and information they need. Not an English merchant keel in port or due here would be safe if it weren't for the Tigress and the Hermione. Think of it! Six cargoes ready to go out, and they'll all have to run the Yankee gantlet. There may be more than one privateer, you know."
Straight to the wharf steered the Santa Teresa. No sooner was her gang-plank out than her passengers poured over it to be welcomed after the exuberant Spanish fashion.