"Thank you, señor," said Vine. "All right. Let him come aboard." Lightly as a panther, with wonderful quickness of motion, a short, slight, dark-faced fellow sprang over into the cutter. "Me Pedro," he said. "Fight for Americano. Save he troat from picaroon." The Carib, therefore, could make himself understood in English, and he was eager to express his personal gratitude for his rescue from pirates and sharks. "Now, señor," said Captain Velasquez, "we will run in and make our report. After that is done, you may rely upon all that our authorities can do for you. You will find that Spaniards can be grateful. Señora Alvarez and Señora Paez wish me to say that their young friend must soon be at their house." Guert expressed his thanks and willingness a little lamely, and the uppermost thought in his mind was:-- "There! I hardly know what I said. I'll pick up every Spanish word I can get hold of, while I'm among 'em." "Pull back hard!" said Up-na-tan. "Vine lose no time. Ole chief see men jump around on frigate. See go to capstan. Come out soon." He had a red man's eye for signs, and nothing escaped him. None of his companions, not even Coco, had noticed the fact that a number of British sailors were going aloft, or that there were men gathering at the frigate's capstan as if they had designs upon the anchor. A very different kind of man, as sharp in some respects as the Manhattan himself, had all that while been taking observations through a good telescope. He was in a somewhat weather-beaten uniform of a British first lieutenant, and he stood on the quarter-deck of the _Tigress_, reporting to his captain:-- "Small boat, sir, from outside the harbor. Yankee-built cutter. Two American sailors, I take 'em to be. One nigger. One mulatto, I'd say. Now they are meeting a boat from the Spanish trader that's coming in. Of course, sir, there's a rebel craft o' some sort somewhere outside, waiting to know if it's safe to come in." "All right, Mackenzie," replied the captain of the _Tigress_. "We must catch her. Up anchor!" "Ay, ay, sir," said Mackenzie, "but no canvas out till that Yankee scout-boat gets away. They needn't suspect we're after em." "Trust your head, my boy," replied his bluff commander. "You're a sea-fox, my dear fellow, but you won't steal a march on any Yankee, right away. They're as cunning as Mohawks. Speak that Spaniard, if she comes within hail." That was precisely what the captain of the _Santa Teresa_ had decided not to do, if he could help it. The moment he was again on board of his own ship, he took the helm himself, and he made as wide a sheer easterly as he could. Owing to the channel and the position of the _Tigress_, however, the best he could do was to escape miscellaneous conversation. He could not quite avoid coming within speaking-trumpet range. The hoarse hail of the British lieutenant reached him clearly enough. "Ship ahoy! What ship's that?"