“‘And now, here is another blamed nigger right before our face and eyes—we know his hold is full of slaves—we can almost see ’em, and if the wind would haul to west’rd a bit hang me if I don’t believe we could smell ’em—and yet, because the fellow has run up a French flag, we’ve got to lose him. Gentlemen, I repeat, it is outrageous!’
“We all asserted clamorously that it was monstrous.
“‘And something ought to be done about it,’ continued the old man, waxing warmer and more indignant. ‘Ordinarily, I can somehow manage to stand it, but this fellow has been dodging here for a week with a rascally lie at his peak, and this time I’m not going to stand it.’
“The captain paused and wiped his brow with his silk handkerchief.
“‘Now, gentlemen,’ he again went on, ‘you all know it was rather duskish last night when we made the fellow show his colours. Are you all perfectly certain what flag it was he hoisted?’
“We all kept silent with a puzzled air.
“‘That is to say,’ he continued, ‘are you all perfectly certain it was the French flag? There was blue in it and red in it. Now, may there not have been white in it, too? In short, may it not have been the British Jack?’
“The captain said this with a queer kind of smile that suddenly betrayed to us his meaning.
“Probably he himself was the most scrupulous officer present—indeed, upon him must the whole responsibility rest.
“If he chose to run the risk it was hardly probable that any of us would hesitate, especially at what we considered a perfectly justifiable piece of deception.