Part 16 (2/2)
Suddenly there was a shout from one of them.
”Porto Rico at last!” cried one of the sailors, joyfully.
”A sail!” cried the lookout man.
”Where?”
”On the port bow!”
One of the officers instantly went to the top with his binocular, bringing it to bear on a small, far distant speck on the ocean.
”A sail, surely,” he said, ”but what is it?”
”Well, sir?” shouted Captain Miles.
”It is a sail, sir.”
”What do you make of it, Mr. Robson?”
”Hard to say. Certainly not a battle s.h.i.+p, nor even a gun-boat.”
”What, then?”
”Looks like a small boat, sir. Perhaps there may be people aboard, but at present it's impossible to say.”
Mr. Robson was a lieutenant on the Brooklyn. He had been early in the war on the battle s.h.i.+p Indiana. There Young Glory had served under him, and had learned to appreciate the attention to duty and the bravery displayed by this gallant officer.
He and Captain Miles paced the deck now, talking over what should be done.
”I should send a boat, sir.”
”We shall see in a minute or two what is best to be done, Mr. Robson.
We're running directly for the sail.”
”It's not a boat, sir!” cried Mr. Robson, after a while.
”Not a boat?”
”No.”
”What, then?”
”A raft.”
”You're right,” said the captain, after another look. ”A raft, sure enough, and what's more, is that there are people on it. Order out two boats.”
”Yes, sir.”
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