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Updated: June 8, 2025
Under such circumstances, it was not long before the Falcon and the Portsmouth were within speaking-trumpet distance of each other, both of them losing half a mile to the Goshhawk while they were getting together. Rapid and loud-voiced indeed were the explanations which passed between the two commanders.
This it was his plain duty to do, and the attempt to do it would shortly put him and all his guns between the Portsmouth and the Goshhawk. This operation was going on at the end of another hour, when Captain Kemp's lookout shouted down to him: "Sail ho, sir! 'Bout a mile ahead o' the British frigate. Can't quite make her out yet, sir." "I declare!" groaned the captain.
He had admired Hernando Cortes, as a hero of fiction, but here he was, now, actually talking with one of the hero's great-great-grandchildren, who was also, after a fashion, one of the Montezumas. It was like a short chapter out of some other novel, with the night race of the Goshhawk thrown in by way of variation.
Ned was now wearing an oilskin, for he would not have allowed any amount of rain to have driven him below. He and all the rest on board the Goshhawk were aware that their pursuers were again beginning to gain on them perceptibly.
Crawford, she was hardly able to drink her coffee that morning, after reading the newspaper, and she might have been even more willing to have Ned come home if she had known what had become of the Goshhawk, and in what company he was a couple of hours after she arose from her table. Company? That was it.
The Mexican officer only bowed, and in a moment more the yawl was fighting her difficult way over the rapidly increasing waves, for the first strength of the norther had really come, and there might soon be a great deal more of it, for the benefit of the Goshhawk. "There!" muttered Captain Kemp, as he saw them depart, "I haven't more than a good boat's crew left on board.
Whoever had put so much contraband of war on board the Goshhawk had not entrusted it entirely to the eccentricities of a lot of out-and-out American sailors, with peculiar notions concerning their flag. On went Colonel Tassara's yawl, and it was not likely to meet any other boat that evening.
For the sake of old friendship and family ties, for instance, he might be even desirous of binding to his own interests a man who was known to have a large number of personal adherents in the important State of Oaxaca. That very man stood aft upon the deck of the Goshhawk when the boat of Colonel Guerra touched her side, but he did not at once come forward to extend a greeting.
Both pursuers and pursued began to swing out lights, and before long the mate of the Goshhawk came to Captain Kemp to inquire, in a puzzled way: "I say, Cap'n, what on earth do you do that for? It'll help 'em to foller us, and lose us all the benefit o' the dark." "No, it won't," growled the captain. "You wait and see.
His coffee and corn-cakes did a great deal for him, and he made out to pretend to help Pablo in getting the fat pony ready for the road. Then, however, he was willing to see Pablo walk away, and he bravely led the pony to the side of what may have been an old and apparently abandoned ant-hill. "I can get on board," he said, as if his patient quadruped had been the Goshhawk.
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