When the fellow saw her, he thought to get out of it by running up a French flag, but at this—since change of flag is presumably evidence of fraud—we both pounced upon him, and in half an hour had his crew in irons.
“But that wasn’t the story I started to tell. As I say, we were not always as fortunate as that, and after weeks and weeks of hot weather and no prizes, the whole ship’s company began to grow desperate.
“One evening, just before twilight came on—or what would be twilight if they had such a thing in those latitudes—we were standing idly along up towards Coast Castle, when a sail was reported as seen over the land, the vessel being just about to emerge from a small bay that makes in just there. Captain Hodge was on deck at the time, and himself addressed the masthead.
“‘Do you know her?’ was his first inquiry.
“‘Can’t make her out just yet, sir, on account of the hill,’ answered the look-out. ‘I should judge, from the size of them tops’ils and the rake of her masts, that it is the big schooner we overhauled last week.’
“A moment after, and the captain hailed again.
“‘How is she now, my man?’
“‘’Tis the schooner, sir.’
“‘All right. Keep an eye on her,’ and the captain went below a moment.
“Fifteen minutes after we were in full sight of the slaver—for slaver we knew her to be. That low black hull and rakish build could belong to no respectable craft, even if the presence of such could be accounted for just there and then.