“Catholic, or Dutch—­no church in York is more completely up and down than the brig at this moment.”

“Get off of me—­get off of me, Biddy, and let me rise,” said the widow, with dignity.  “The danger is over I see, and, as we return our thanks for it, we have the consolation of knowing that we have done our duty.  It is incumbent on all, at such moments, to be at their posts, and to set examples of decision and prudence.”

As Mulford saw all was well in the cabin, he hastened on deck, followed by Senor Montefalderon.  Just as they emerged from the companion-way, Spike was hailing the forecastle.

“Forecastle, there,” he cried, standing on the trunk himself as he did so, and moving from side to side, as if to catch a glimpse of some object ahead.

“Sir,” came back from an old salt, who was coiling up rigging in that seat of seamanship.

“Where-away is the schooner?  She ought to be dead ahead of us, as we tend now—­but blast me if I can see as much as her mast-heads.”

At this suggestion, a dozen men sprang upon guns or other objects, to look for the vessel in question.  The old salt forward, however, had much the best chance, for he stepped on the heel of the bowsprit, and walked as far out as the knight-heads, to command the whole view ahead of the brig.  There he stood half a minute, looking first on one side of the head-gear, then the other, when he gave his trousers a hitch, put a fresh quid in his mouth, and called out in a voice almost as hoarse as the tempest, that had just gone by,

“The schooner has gone down at her anchor, sir.  There’s her buoy watching still, as if nothing had happened; but as for the craft itself, there’s not so much as a bloody yard-arm, or mast-head of her to be seen!”

This news produced a sensation in the brig at once, as may be supposed.  Even Senor Montefalderon, a quiet, gentleman-like person, altogether superior in deportment to the bustle and fuss that usually marks the manners of persons in trade, was disturbed; for to him the blow was heavy indeed.  Whether he were acting for himself, or was an agent of the Mexican government, the loss was much the same.

“Tom is right enough,” put in Spike, rather coolly for the circumstances—­“that there schooner of yourn has foundered, Don Wan, as any one can see.  She must have cap-sized and filled, for I obsarved they had left the hatches off, meaning, no doubt, to make an end of the storage as soon as they had done sleeping.”

“And what has become of all her men, Don Esteban?” for so the Mexican politely called his companion.  “Have all my poor countrymen perished in this disaster?”

“I fear they have, Don Wan; for I see no head, as of any one swimming.  The vessel lay so near that island next to it, that a poor swimmer would have no difficulty in reaching the place; but there is no living thing to be seen.  But man the boat, men; we will go to the spot, Senor, and examine for ourselves.”