“Schooner ahoy!” came the hail out of the darkness.
“Ay, ay, Sir!” replied Walter through his trumpet.
“What schooner is that?”
“The yacht Banner, from Bellville, bound for Lost Island. What schooner is that?”
“We want to send a boat aboard of you,” shouted the voice, without replying to Walter’s question.
“Very good, sir. What schooner is that?”
Still no reply. The stranger evidently did not care to tell who and what she was. Walter was amazed at this want of courtesy, and wondering why a vessel that he had never seen before should want to send a boat aboard of him, sprang down from the rail and looked at the schooner through his night-glass. All he could make out was that her hull was long and narrow and sat low in the water, that her masts were tall and raking, that her sails looked much too large for her, and that taken altogether she was a very handsome vessel, and plainly a swift sailer. While Walter was looking at her, her boat came into view. It was crowded with men, and as it approached within the circle of light thrown out by the lanterns that Perk and Eugene held over the side, Walter saw that they were dressed in the uniform of the revenue cutter service, and that they were all armed. Even the two officers who sat in the stern-sheets wore their swords. Walter, more bewildered than ever, looked toward Mr. Craven for an explanation; but the blank look on that gentleman’s face showed that he did not understand the matter any better than Walter did. Before either of them could say a word, the revenue officer boarded the yacht, followed by some of their men—the former staring at Walter and his crew with an air of surprise, and the sailors looking all around as if expecting an attack from some quarter.
“Who’s the master of this craft?” asked one of the officers.
“I am, sir,” replied Walter.