For some while we saw nothing but the dark mountain
outline of the island, the torches of native fishermen
glittering here and there along the fore-shore, and
right in the midst that cluster of brave lights with
which the town of Honolulu advertises itself to the
seaward. Presently a ruddy star appeared inshore of
us, and seemed to draw near unsteadily. This was the
anticipated signal; and we made haste to show the
countersign, lowering a white light from the quarter,
extinguishing the two others, and laying the schooner
incontinently to. The star approached slowly; the
sounds of oars and of men's speech came to us across
the water; and then a voice hailed us--
"Is that Mr. Dodd?"
"Yes," I returned. "Is Jim Pinkerton there?"
"No, sir," replied the voice. "But there's one of his
crowd here, name of Speedy."
"I'm here, Mr. Dodd," added Speedy himself "I have
letters for you."
"All right," I replied. "Come aboard, gentlemen, and
let me see my mail."
A whaleboat accordingly ranged alongside, and three men
boarded us: my old San Francisco friend, the stock-
gambler Speedy, a little wizened person of the name of
Sharpe, and a big, flourishing, dissipated-looking man
called Fowler.
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