“‘Now,’ cries the old man, again making his appearance on deck, and as much interested in the affair as was I, the most inexperienced youngster in the ship, ‘we’ll make her show her colours. If she don’t recognise us she may show a different flag from what she did before. If so, she is ours.’
“But the stranger was not to be caught in any such way as that.
“She did remember us perfectly well, probably had known precisely where we were every day for the last week, and when a gun was fired she ran up the French flag as innocently as could be.
“Shortly after the sudden darkness of the tropics came on, the faltering sea-breeze died out entirely, and night set in with the two vessels within half a mile of each other, and hardly likely to change their relative positions before morning.
“At daylight, quite contrary to his custom, the old man was on deck again and inquiring for the slaver. She was still in sight; but a slight land breeze had sprung up shortly before day broke, and she was cautiously edging off to the westward.
“Although she might be perfectly safe according to the law’s letter, she did not feel easy in our vicinity any more than a thief does in the company of a policeman. And so the captain remarked to the officer of the watch.
“‘Mr. Bright,’ said he, ‘the nigger doesn’t mean to stay by us long, even if we can’t touch him.’
“The captain always called all slavers ‘niggers’ without discrimination or difference.
“Mr. Bright was the second lieutenant, young for his rank, and a man who had won rapid promotion by his decision and intrepidity. His answer was characteristic.
“‘And why can’t we touch him?’ he asked, in a meaning sort of way.