"Where are you from? And what do you carry?"
"We are from Cadiz, and are laden principally with wine. We were bound for Barcelona.
"You took us in nicely, senor. Who could have dreamt that you were English, when that frigate chased you under the guns of the battery?"
"She thought we were Spanish, as you did," Bob said.
By this time the other Spaniard had brought the papers out of the captain's cabin. Bob ran his eye down over the bill of lading, and was well satisfied with the result. She contained a very large consignment of wine.
"I am going on board the brig," he said, as he put the papers together. "I must ask you to give me your parole not to leave the cabin, until I return. I do not know whether my captain wishes you to remain here, or will transfer you to his own craft."
"Well, Master Bob, what is your prize?" the captain asked.
"It is a valuable one, sir. The polacre herself is, as I see by her papers, only two years old, and seems a fine craft. She is laden with wine, from Cadiz, to Barcelona."
"Capital, Bob; we are in luck, indeed! How many prisoners have you got?"
"The crew is put down at eighteen, sir; and there are the two mates."