And day and night the captain kept a man at the masthead on the lookout, and relieved him every two hours, that his vigilance might not slacken.
But days and nights went by and there was no sign of the Sea Scourge, or any other ship, on all the lonely sea.
At length one evening when the tropical full moon and great stars made all the sky and sea almost as bright as day, and the officers off duty were lounging on the deck, and the captain and his party were playing whist in the cabin, there came a cry from the man at the masthead:
“Sail ho!”
It roused the officers on deck like the blast of a trumpet does the war horse. They “snuffed the battle afar off.”
It startled all the whist players in the cabin, except the phlegmatic captain, who went on counting his points:
“Two by tricks and two by honors; and five before! We’re nine to their nine, Miss Conyers. And now all depends upon the odd trick. So we must look sharp!—I knew we should overhaul her at last! Parson, it’s my deal.”
But no one listened to the captain. Every one was straining their ears to catch the voices from the deck.
“Sail ho!”
The cry rung through the night air like an alarm.