“We’ll try to beat her in,” he replied, “and announce her coming to Commander Tazewell. But,” he added hopelessly, “what can he do? We are too weak now to oppose the count’s government, and with this reënforcement our chances will be hopeless.”
“It’s the ‘Sacramento,’ all right!” O’Neil exclaimed. “See those big bow sponsons for her guns. It’s all over but the shouting now for friend Kataafa! He’ll be doing a foot-race for his summer capital, and the count will be taking a voyage in a war-ship for his health!”
No doubt longer existed. O’Neil’s brisk summing up of the events of the future brought a smile of relief to the lips of the midshipmen. Phil gazed long and earnestly at the approaching war-ship. She had apparently altered her course and was now heading down directly for them.
A few moments later a puff of smoke was seen ejected from the high forecastle and a muffled report was heard some dozen seconds later—the universal message of the sea, announcing, “I desire to communicate.”
The big war-ship, her decks crowded with curious sailors, lay motionless in the water as the schooner “hove to” close alongside.
Phil had answered the hail and reported he had information of importance for the admiral.
A boat shot down from the “Sacramento’s” davits, and was soon alongside the “Talofa.”
O’Neil tended the boat line and good-naturedly chaffed the inquisitive boat’s crew.
“We’re doing a little buccaneering, that’s all,” he answered an eager inquiry as to their mission. “The islanders are fighting between themselves. You fellows came just at the right time. Say,” he added, “did you see anything of a Herzovinian war-ship heading this way, burning up the paint on her bottom?”
The coxswain of the whale-boat declared that the schooner was the only sail they had sighted since leaving Honolulu, nearly two weeks ago.