"Just below you, sir."
A rope was dropped. Bob grasped it, and was hauled up.
"Thank God you are back again!" the captain said. "I have been blaming myself, ever since you started; though, as all was quiet, we felt pretty sure they hadn't made you out. Well, have you any news? Did you get on board?"
"You will get no prize money this time, captain. The Spaniard is a ship of war, mounting twenty-four guns; none of them smaller than eighteens, and ten of them thirty-twos."
"Impossible, Bob! We could not have been so mistaken. Joe and I were both certain that they were fourteens."
"Yes, sir; but those things you saw were dummies. The guns, themselves, are almost all drawn in. All the thirty-twos are, and most of the eighteens. She has been specially disguised, at Malaga, in hopes of tempting a craft like yours to attack her and, what is more, she has a shrewd suspicion of what you are;" and he related the whole of the conversation he had heard, and described the preparations for repulsing a boat attack and, in turn, carrying the brig in the ship's boats.
Captain Lockett was thunderstruck.
"The Spanish officer who commands her must be a smart fellow," he said, "and we have had a narrow escape of running our head into a noose--thanks to you, Bob; for Joe and I had quite made up our minds to attack her, in the middle watch.
"Well, the only thing for us to do is to get away from here, as soon as we can. If she finds we don't attack her, tonight, she is sure to send a boat to us, in the morning; and then, if we have an engagement, we could hardly hope to get off without losing some of our spars--even if we were not sunk--with such heavy metal as she carries. We should have the other two craft down on us, too, and our chances of getting away would be worth nothing.
"Well, I suppose, Joe, our best plan will be to tow her away?"