people into trouble! And
in fact, Pascualo's moon-face was glowing in the excitement of this
battle with the sea. At every buffet of the waves he smiled, a purple
flush suffusing his features, as though he were rising from a holiday
meal. His arms seemed part and parcel of the heavy tiller, and his legs
might just as well have been nailed to the deck. As the old _Garbosa_
leapt and lunged, shrieking in every seam from stem to stern as though
in panic-stricken agony, the Rector's spherical corpulence scarcely
moved at all.

"What's the matter with you fellows?" And he would laugh with the loud
bellow with which he applauded funny stories ashore--as soon as he saw
the point in them. "Scared? _Dios_, why don't you wait till we get a
breeze? Hardly enough air out this afternoon to catch your breath! Here
she comes, here she comes! Brrrmm! Never touched the old girl! If that
fellow had gotten us, good-night and good-morning! Anyhow, in the other
world every day is Sunday, the parson says! Die young, and the lobsters
eat you; die old, and it's the worms! What's the difference! Me for a
short life and a gay one! And if need be, we can swim for it. Hey there,
here she comes! Brrrrum! Tra, la, la! Missed again!..."

And the Rector talked on, expounding the sailor's philosophy of life he
had learned offshore under _tio_ Borrasca. But no one listened, except
the "cat," who was on his first voyage, and stood clinging, palish-green
with fright, to the mast, but with eyes and ears, nevertheless, for
everything.

Night fell. The _Garbosa_ was hanging on under a close-reefed sail,
driving head foremost into the pitchy dark. The lanterns had not been
lighted, for the risk of being seen was worse, almost, than the danger
of a collision. About nine o'clock, the Rector gave a frantic pull at
the rudder. A light had appeared in the mist, close by off the port bow.
It was a boat beating down in the opposite direction. Pascualo could not
make out the lines of the craft as she sped past; but he knew it was the
cutter, which had tired of loafing off the Cabanal, and was boldly
running for the Columbretas to catch the smugglers in their refuge
before the storm cleared. For the first time since leaving the pool that
afternoon, the Rector let go the tiller for a second. "This, for a
pleasant night!" laughed he, making a coarse but expressive gesture of
contempt towards his vanishing enemy.

At one o'clock another light came up ahead. Rosario!