Falmouth stood on the bridge. He had again put on his mask of habitual indifference.
"All is ready, my lord," said Williams to him. "Does your Grace wish to fight this pirate under sail or shall we board her?"
"Which do you prefer, a fight on board or a fight under sail?" Falmouth asked me, as if he were asking me to choose between Bordeaux or Madeira wine.
"I am absolutely indifferent," I replied, smiling; "let us act without ceremony; trust to the judgment of Williams, it is safer."
"What do you think, Williams?" demanded Falmouth.
"That we keep under sail. With the artillery of your Grace's yacht we can destroy this pirate without its being able to approach us, or do us much harm; for I do not suppose it could have taken artillery aboard."
"And the boarding?" asked Falmouth.
"I believe my lord knows the crew of the yacht well enough to be certain that, after a good contest, the pirates will be repulsed, or perhaps that their boat will remain in our power. But," suddenly cried Williams, pointing to a white spot with the end of his spy-glass, "the ship has put about; here it is returning upon us, my lord."
In fact, I soon saw its white sails appear in the darkness as it rapidly approached.
I loaded my carbine, put my axe near me, and waited.