"It is just the sort of thing that I enjoy.
If Miguelito was captain of his father's boat we'd been in
Cardenas by daybreak."
"When do you sail?" O'Reilly asked.
"At dawn, God permitting. You will have to remain hidden and you
mustn't even breathe. I have told my men that you are members of
my wife's family--good Spaniards, but I doubt if they will believe
it."
"Then you are to be my uncle?" Jacket inquired from his seat in
the bow. "Caramba! That's more than I can stand! To be considered
a Spaniard is bad enough, but to be known as the nephew of an old
miser who smells of fish! It is too much!"
Badinage of this sort did not displease the fisherman. "It is not
often they board us nowadays," he said, more hopefully, "but of
course one never can tell. Perhaps we will sail out under their
very noses."
He brought the skiff alongside a battered old schooner and his
passengers clambered aboard. There was a tiny cabin aft and on it,
sheltered from the night dew by a loose fold of the mainsail, were
two sleeping men. The new-comers followed Morin down into the evil
little cabin, where he warned them in a stertorous whisper:
"Not a sound, mind you. If any one comes aboard, you must shift
for yourselves. Creep into the hold and hide. Of course, if we are
searched--" He muttered something, then groped his way out on
deck, and closed the hatch behind him.
Pages:
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414
415
416
417
418
419
420
421
422
423
424
425