"
But the captain shook his head. "It would be a dangerous thing," he said,
"to put into any port on the west coast of South America with our present
cargo on board. We can't make it look like ballast, as I expected we
could, for all that bagging gives it a big bulk, and if the custom-house
officers came on board, it would not do any good to tell them we are
sailing in ballast, if they happened to want to look below."
"Well, that may be so," said Burke. "But what I'd like would be to meet a
first-class, double-quick steamer, and buy her, put our treasure on
board, and then clap on all steam for France."
"All right," said the captain, "but we'll talk about that when we meet a
steamer for sale."
After a week had passed, and he had begun to feel the advantages of rest
and relief from anxiety, Captain Horn regretted nothing so much as that
the _Miranda_ was not a steamer, ploughing her swift way over the seas.
It must be a long, long time before he could reach those whom he supposed
and hoped were waiting for him in France. It had already been a long,
long time since they had heard from him. He did not fear that they would
suffer because he did not come. He had left them money enough to prevent
anything of that sort. He did not know whether or not they were longing
to hear from him, but he did know that he wanted them to hear from him.
He must yet sail about three thousand miles in the Pacific Ocean, and
then about two thousand more in the Atlantic, before he reached Rio
Janeiro, the port for which he had cleared.
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