“Captain, there’s an officer wants to come aboard,” said Tomlinson, breaking in upon his reverie.
Walter looked toward the shore and saw a boat putting off from the nearest wharf, and a man dressed in uniform standing in the stern waving his handkerchief. “Who is he?” asked the young captain.
“One of them revenue fellers, I guess. These chaps are very particular.”
“I am glad to hear it, for if we can find that schooner we may be able to induce them to examine her.”
The yacht was thrown up into the wind, and in a few minutes the officer came on board—a fierce-looking Spaniard, with a mustache which covered all the lower part of his face, and an air as pompous as that of the revenue captain. He touched his hat to Walter, and addressed some words to him which the latter could not understand.
“I hope there’s nothing wrong,” said the commander, anxiously. “I may have violated some of the rules of the port, for I am like a cat in a strange garret here. Tomlinson, can you speak his lingo?”
“No, sir. Talk French to the lubber, if you can.”
Walter could and did. The visitor replied in the same language, and his business was quickly settled. He was a revenue officer, as Tomlinson had surmised, and wanted to look at the yacht’s papers, which were quickly produced; although of what use they could be to a man who did not understand English, Walter could not determine. The officer looked at them a moment, with an air of profound wisdom, and then returning them with the remark that they were all right, touched his hat and sprang into his boat. As soon as he was clear of the side the yacht filled away again, Walter taking his stand upon the rail and looking out for a convenient place to moor his vessel; but there were but two small wharves in the harbor, and every berth seemed to be occupied. As he ran his eye along the brigs, barks and schooners, wondering if there were an American among them, his gaze suddenly became fastened upon a little craft which looked familiar to him. He was certain he had seen that black hull and those tall, raking masts before. He looked again, and in a voice which trembled in spite of all his efforts to control it, requested Eugene to hand him his glass.
“What’s the matter?” asked the crew in concert, crowding up to the rail. “What do you see?”