“Possibly,” said the lieutenant, while Murray felt his blood thrill in his veins with the excitement of the position. “What schooner was it?”
“Smart sailing craft, with long rakish masts?”
“Yes, yes,” said the lieutenant; “I know all about that. A slaver, eh?”
The American half shut his eyes as he peered out of their corners at the British officer, and a queer smile puckered up his countenance.
“Slaving ain’t lawful, is it, mister?” he said.
“You answer my question,” said the lieutenant testily.
“Means confiscation, don’t it?”
“And that is not an answer,” cried the lieutenant angrily.
“Yew making a prize of that theer smart schooner from her top-masts down to her keel, eh?”
“Will you reply to what I say?” cried the lieutenant. “Is she a slaver?”