Mr. Bailey, who was looking at her intently with his glass, exclaimed: “Captain, she is full of cotton and carrying a large deck load. She is a blockade runner, sure!”
A glance through my own glass verified the correctness of his report.
“By George, Mr. Bailey, we’ll have a try for her!”
“I am afraid it is no use, captain. She is too near the line; before we can get under weigh she will be in Mexican water, where she can laugh at us.”
“Yes, if she finds out who we are. Let us see if we can’t outwit her. I don’t believe she has noticed us yet, and she is well to the eastward of the line yet. Quietly brace our yards awry; cock-bill the main yard a bit; haul down that pennant and ensign; run in our guns and close the ports; slack up the running rigging; throw an old sail over the port gangway as though we had been taking in cargo there; get up a burton on the mainstay and a whip on the main yard; send all hands below. In short, turn the old ship into a merchantman for the time being, to throw the schooner off the scent. If we succeed in doing that, I will guarantee that we bag her.”
Mr. Bailey hurried away to have this work done, and I sent my orderly to ask Mr. Taylor to come into the cabin.
I explained my plan to him, and told him to man and arm the second cutter and to drop her under the starboard quarter, where she could not be seen from the approaching schooner, and to be ready at a word from me to dash upon the prize. I knew that I could depend upon this officer for an intelligent and prompt performance of his share of the work, and I told him the instant he got on board the schooner to heave her to on the other tack and at once take the bearing of the mouth of the river so carefully that he could swear to the vessel’s position, if the matter should come up in the prize court for adjudication.
Then I replaced my uniform coat and cap with a white linen jacket and a straw hat, and took up a conspicuous position on the poop, looking very like a merchant captain. Meanwhile Mr. Bailey, following my suggestions, had transformed my dandy man-of-war bark into a merchant drogher, to all appearance from a short distance. He had also got himself up in the masquerade costume of a Kennebunk mate, and in his shirt sleeves was lounging over the midship rail, cigar in mouth, watching the approach of our Confederate friend, who was standing in for the anchorage evidently entirely unconscious of any lurking danger.
The greatest difficulty I experienced was in keeping my men out of sight. They were as full of excitement as a cat watching for a mouse, and would endeavor to steal up the hatchways for a peep at the schooner, notwithstanding all the vigilance of their officers.
At last the schooner was within little more than a cable’s length of our port quarter, and her crew were standing by to shorten sail, in anticipation of anchoring, when I quietly walked across the poop and gave Mr. Taylor the word.