“Yes, I hope so, sir,” said the lad.
“Hope, eh? Humph. You don’t know what you are talking about, my lad.”
“Please don’t speak,” said Mark, excitedly. “I’ve got it just right now. Look sir, look, there’s a regular fight going on aboard. They’re getting ready to pitch another man overboard.”
The lieutenant raised the glass to his eyes, and immediately gave orders to the crew to stand ready. Then, following the midshipman’s example, he fixed his glass upon the schooner, and watched her moonlit deck with its busy dark figures, in the full expectation of seeing another heavy splash.
But nothing more disturbed the surface of the water but the rush of the swift schooner, in whose wake lay what looked like an arrow-head of foam, as the lines diverged from each side of her sharp prow; and as they neared her the captain grew excited.
“She’s going to heave to,” he cried.
Just then a shot went skipping along the water, making the sea flash into silver at every dip, and sped right on in front of the schooner’s bows, a messenger sufficiently faithful to warn the Yankee skipper of what would be the fate of his vessel if he did not strike his colours, for the man who aimed that shot could as easily have hulled the swift craft.
At the captain’s words every eye was directed to the American flag which the skipper was disgracing, but it remained in its place as both vessels sped on, and a couple more shots were fired and sent through the main and foresails, which showed, with the aid of the glasses, a couple of black spots.
That was all.
“He’s laughing at us,” growled Mr Staples. “Oh, if we could send a few shots through his wretched craft!”