And there, sure enough, loomed the sails of a schooner on the port tack standing directly across our bow.
“And it’s the Johnnie!” exclaimed Mr. Bailey, as he gazed down from the forecastle in astonishment upon the vessel almost under our bowsprit, her decks piled up with cotton bales, and her crew standing thunderstruck at their perilous position.
I sprang upon the forecastle and hailed: “Heave to, or I’ll sink you! Ready with No. 1 gun, Mr. Allen!”
“All ready, sir!”
“Don’t fire! we surrender!” came quickly from the schooner, as she flew up in the wind and lay bobbing helplessly on our port bow.
“Send a boat at once to me with your captain. And let him bring his papers, if he has any!” I called out.
“We stove our boat the other day, sir, and she won’t float,” they replied.
“Very well; I will send my boat to you. Mr. Bailey, have the second cutter lowered, and send Mr. Allen on board that schooner to take charge of her with a dozen well-armed men. Let her captain and his crew come back here in our boat. Take a master’s mate with you, Mr. Allen!”
“Aye, aye, sir,” and the boat was called away and made ready.
“By the way, Mr. Allen,” I called out as the boat shoved off, “see if you can find out from them anything about Mr. Taylor. In dodging him they have probably run afoul of us.”