Ginnell rushed to the halyards himself. Chopstick Charlie, at the wheel, required no orders, and the Tamalpais came round, with all her canvas spilling the wind and slatting, while the warship, stealing along now with just a ripple at her stern, came gliding past the stem of the schooner.
They were taking her name, just as a policeman takes the number of a motor car.
It was a ghastly business. No cheery voice, with the inquiry: “What’s your name and where are you bound for?” Just a silent inspection, and then a dropped boat.
Next moment a lieutenant of the American navy was coming over the side of the Tamalpais, to be received by Ginnell.
“Captain Keene?” asked the lieutenant.
“That’s me name,” answered the unfortunate, who had determined on the rôle of the blustering innocent; “and who are you, to be boardin’ me like this and firing guns at me?”
“Well, of all the——cheek!” said the other, with a laugh. “A nice dance you’ve led us since we lost you in that fog.”
“Which fog?” asked the astonished Ginnell. “Fog! It’s some other ship you’re after, for I haven’t sighted a fog since leavin’ port.”
“Oh, close up!” said the other.
His men, who had come on board, were busy with the covering of the main hatch, and he walked forward, to superintend.