The attitude of the Greeks seemed to be growing hostile. Many were the unfriendly glances they cast at the two lads and the boys could hear their names repeated in the low-toned conversation going on.
The two lads retired to the bow where, though they effected to be taking their ease, they kept on the alert for the first signs of trouble.
Though nothing happened to further arouse their fears, it was a trying situation and both were glad when the time came to return to the schooner.
They found the captain and Chris both tired from a hard day's labor cleaning sponges. The wounded sailor was sitting back by the wheel, looking somewhat pale and haggard, but not a great deal the worse for his many wounds.
"His troubles' been sorter praying on his mind all day," said the captain. "He got a hold of my pad and pencil this morning an' he's been drawing pictures of the fight and other things—here's one of them."
The old sailor produced a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket.
Walter examined the sketch closely. It was not without a certain cleverness and was better than one would expect of a humble sailor before the mast. It depicted a struggle between two groups of men. In one of the groups, the lad could recognize some of the faces of the Greeks, who, armed with knives and clubs, were assailing the other party. As the lad bent over to examine the other group more closely, he uttered an exclamation of surprise. At first glance there was nothing startling about those whom the Greeks were fighting, but a second glance showed something familiar about the figures composing it. He passed the sketch to Charley.
"What do you make of it?" he asked.
"Why, that little group is intended to represent us," his chum exclaimed. "See they are just four in number. That big one with the beard is meant for the captain and the little one for Chris, the other two are you and I. Why, the likeness to us is quite striking when you look at it closely."