. And
they liked the story of the black girl best of all.

The Rector, who was still astern, gave a sudden cry. Some one from shore
was coming aboard. And in fact a red light could be seen drawing nearer,
and a curious chugging was audible, as if a dog were splashing his way
toward the boat. It was the launch from the "market." A fine looking
young man with a blond mustache and wearing a blue coat climbed up on
deck. In the _lingua franca_ of the African ports, a mixture of Italian,
French, Greek and Catalan, he explained just what the situation was. He
had received the letter of _mosiu_ Mariano of Valencia, and had been
expecting them the night before. He had understood their signal and
brought the goods right off; for, even if the French usually winked at
such things, it was just as well not to waste any time in getting
through.

"All ready, boys," the Rector shouted to his men. "Load her on!"

The launch was piled high with bales, till barely a foot of smokestack
was visible over the top. But one by one the heavy bundles began to come
aboard, sewed up in waterproof burlap and exhaling a teasing fragrance.
The two craft were lashed together so that the transfer was not
difficult. As the packages vanished through the hatches of the
_Garbosa_, the old boat got lower and lower in the water, groaning and
creaking, meanwhile, like a long-suffering donkey complaining of its
load.

The blond Algerian kept looking the vessel over, and his astonishment
grew apace. Were they going to put to sea in a trap like that, loaded
way down to the water line? The Rector replied with several knocks on
his own strong breast to evidence an assurance that he really did not
feel. Put it all on, put it all on! The way he figured, with the help of
God and the Holy Christ of the Grao, every last bale would be on the
shore at the Cabanal within forty-eight hours. The hold was soon full
up. The remaining bundles were stowed on the old creaking deck, lashed
down and propped with planks so as not to wash overboard. "Well, good
luck, captain!" said the young man from the launch, and he shook the
Rector's hand warmly.

The vessels were pushed apart, and the launch ran off. The _Garbosa_
spread her sail again, and catching the wind, came around. The lights of
Algiers began now to come from the left, and soon they were fading
visibly in the distance. Once under way again, the Rector felt a gripe
at his heart. Heaven help them, and not send a storm