“I think I’d better leave that for the Captain to explain,” I replied drily.
But Bill Howard had no such notion, and at a look from Master Marshall blurted out the whole story. As he proceeded the face of the mate grew grave, and when the old sailor was done, he turned to me, declaring:
“This is a serious matter, Master Dunn. To desert you at such a time was little short of outright murder. We must report it to the consul.”
“Let us wait a while,” I suggested. “If Captain Weston only treats me fairly now, I am willing to let bygones be bygones.”
“I suppose that would be the easiest way out of the unpleasantness,” he admitted, “but unless you are squarely dealt with, I am ready to lay the matter before the consul. Remember this.”
Thanking him for his offer, I asked about his own experiences the night before.
“There is little to tell,” he answered. “The pilot was able to direct us somewhat, and after several hours of fighting with the wind and the waves we reached the inner bay and were safe. Landing about midnight, the old Portuguese took us to a sailor’s inn, where we were cared for. Captain Weston had a harder time, and it was nearly morning before he reached the shore, a mile or two below the town: Staying there until light, he came to the city, where he finally located us. Scarcely had he joined us when the pilot, who had left us to go to his own home, ran back with the astonishing news that the brig was anchored in the harbor. The captain wouldn’t believe it until his own eyes had rested on the craft and then the way he ordered us to our boats and started us off here would have made you laugh. I had, of course, learned that you and Bill had been left on the vessel, but had supposed it was because the second boat broke away from her side before you could board it.”
Two hours later the captain had the anchor weighed and the brig brought within a few cable lengths of the pier, alongside of which he expected in a few days to lay her. Then he went on shore, and was gone until night.
I was in charge of the deck when he returned, and with a slight nod in recognition of my presence he passed on to his cabin. He did not appear again until about nine o’clock the following morning. Then he came over to the rail where I stood looking off towards a British frigate which was anchored a half mile farther off shore than the brig. There were many signs of activity on board the man-of-war, and I was confident she was getting ready to leave the harbor. The same thought had evidently occurred to the skipper, for as he reached my side he asked:
“Do you think she is getting under weigh, Master Dunn?”