“No,” said Nic sharply; “the only vessel in sight then was a big merchantman with her yards all awry.”
“That’s so, sir, and she gammoned me. The skipper’s had her streak painted out, and a lot of her tackle cast loose, to make her look like a lubberly trader; but it’s the frigate, as I made out at last, coming down with a spanking breeze, and in an hour’s time she’ll be close enough to send her men ashore.”
The Captain sprang up and caught his son’s hand, to ring it hard.
“Huzza, Nic!” he cried excitedly. “This is going to be a night of nights.”
It was.
Chapter Nine.
Ready for Action.
“That’s about their size, Master Nic,” said Solly, as he stood in the coach-house balancing a heavy cudgel in his hand—one of a couple of dozen lying on the top of the corn-bin just through the stable door.