“Why, captain, if the men fight, I should say not; but, you see, these guns, handsome as they are, won’t fight of themselves.”
“I’ll answer for the men fighting; they’ll have but their choice,—fight, or the contents of my pistol through the first man’s head who quits his gun. I’ll nail the colours to the mast, and see who will be the man who will haul them down. Why, pilot, this vessel is insured at thirty thousand pounds.”
“Then she’ll be a famous prize, if they should contrive to take her, that’s all,” said Bramble. “Halloo! what vessel’s that coming down? Tom, hand your glass here.”
“I haven’t got it with me.”
“Well, give me that one on the skylight. I can’t make her out, but I don’t much like the looks of her.”
“Heh! what’s that?” said the captain. “Let me look:— oh, she’s a square-rigged vessel, ain’t she?”
“Can’t tell,” said Bramble.
The mate, who had fetched his glass from below, looked at her, and said it was a coasting schooner.
“Are you sure of that?” said the captain. “Let me see:— well, I don’t know what to say—she does look rakish. I’ll go forward and make her out.”
“Why, it’s a coaster, Bramble,” said I, as the captain walked forward.