“Better wait till you get there,” teased Jim. “If it’s a raider you may be killed. Some one’s got to die, you know.”
“Shet up!” retorted the old whaleman petulantly. “Ain’t there ’nough troubles without a talkin’ ’bout bein’ kilt?”
But all fears as to the identity of the approaching warship were put at rest a moment later, when the second mate called down that she was British and flying signals.
“Can you read them?” asked the skipper.
“Yes, sir,” replied Mr. Kemp.
Slowly he read the flags and called them out, while below, Captain Edwards ran his finger down the code book and, a moment later, with a wild yell, he dashed down the book and seemed suddenly to have gone raving mad.
Throwing his hat in the air, shouting and laughing, the usually staid and dignified skipper danced and leaped about and capered like a schoolboy. Then, leaping to the rail and steadying himself with a grip on the shrouds, he yelled, “Whoop her up, boys, the war’s over! Three cheers, my lads—three times three!” And as the good tidings dawned upon them, the crew gave such rousing cheers that even those upon the warship must have heard.
“Up with your ensign, Mr. Potter. Up with Old Glory and salute!” roared the skipper. “And dress ship! Run up everything you can find!”
But already the boys had forestalled Cap’n Pem and before the old mate could reach the flag-locker, Tom was bending the Stars and Stripes to the halliards and a moment later it rose fluttering to the peak. Three times he dipped it in salute to the trim British cruiser, and, an instant later, the Union Jack dipped in return. Long ere the cruiser was out of sight strings of gay bunting were fluttering up to the bark’s mastheads and Captain Edwards ordered the Hector hove-to.
“No more work to-day!” cried he, as the yards were swung and the light sails furled. “Summon all hands and tell them it’s a holiday, Mr. Kemp. Serve cigars from the after stores, and tell cook to get up the best meal he’s ever cooked for the crew. Nothing’s too good for this day!”