“Yes; and she has shown no colours,” replied Mark; “but suppose she does not turn out to be a slaver, after all.”
“Suppose pigs were to fly,” cried Bob. “She’s a slaver for certain, and we’ve got her.”
“Doesn’t look like it,” replied his companion; “where’s she making for now? Why, she sails as well as ever.”
This was a slight exaggeration, but all the same the vessel glided along rapidly, and through the glasses the crew could be seen rapidly cutting away the damaged rigging, while her helm was manipulated so that she appeared to be sailing right for the shore.
Another shot and another was fired, but not the slightest heed was paid; and as the Nautilus went swiftly on, it was noted that, unseen before, there was a narrow river running up through the trees, with its regular fringe of mangroves, and the schooner was being steered for this.
“She’ll get right up that river, after all,” said Mark, who in the excitement had forgotten all his past illness, and appeared to be as strong as ever.
“Not she. We shall have her first, my lad. Hurray! look, she has given in. They’ve stopped and surrendered.”
“She has struck on one of the banks, sir,” cried Lieutenant Staples, excitedly, for the schooner’s way through the water had suddenly ceased, and she slowly swung round broadside on, with her sails shivering and flapping.
“A prize at last!” cried Mark, as the men cheered, and the Nautilus glided on, till, when they were about a quarter of a mile away, Mr Russell announced that a couple of boats were leaving the schooner, and it was seen that her captain and crew were making for the shore.
“No doubt now about what she is, gentlemen,” said the captain. “Pipe away the cutter’s crew. Mr Russell, you would like to begin work again. Jump in, sir, and go and take possession.”