"They desire to speak us, I suppose, Mr. Talcott," I remarked. "The
ship is probably an American; it is likely the captain is in the boat,
and he wishes to send letters or messages home."
A shout came from Talcott, at the next instant--then he cried out--
"Three cheers, my lads; I see Captain Marble in that boat, as plainly
as I see the boat itself!"
The cheers that followed, were a spontaneous burst of joy. They
reached the approaching boat, and gave its inmate an earnest of his
reception. In three more minutes. Marble was on the deck of his old
ship. For myself, I was unable to speak; nor was poor Marble much
better off though more prepared for the interview.
"I knew you, Miles; I knew you, and the bloody 'Pretty Poll,'" he at
last got out, the tears running down his cheeks like water, "the
moment the fog lifted, and gave me a fair glimpse. They've got
her--yes--d----n her--God bless her, I mean--they've got her, and the
bloody Frenchmen will not go home with _that_ feather in their
caps. Well, it couldn't have happened to a cleverer fellow; and I'm
just as happy as if I had done it myself!"
There he stood, sound, safe, and sturdy as ever; and the four Sandwich
Islanders were all in the boat, just as well as if they had never
quitted the ship. Every man of the crew had to shake hands with
Marble, congratulations were to be exchanged, and a turbulent quarter
of an hour passed, before it was possible to get a coherent account
from the man of what had befallen him.
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