"The brigantine Spitfire," sung our little captain through his trumpet.
"What luck have you had?"
"Have destroyed sixteen smacks off Gloucester and are now in the wake of an Indiaman that got out last night."
"All right."
And the unsuspicious brig drove by us with all sails set.
"We pulled the wool over her eyes, at any rate," mused our little captain, with twinkling eyes, as we continued on our course.
We next fell in with an American vessel, homeward bound, and gave her directions how to escape the blockaders.
"Sail ho!" sung out the lookout, an hour later.
We were immediately in a stew of excitement, thinking that this, at least, must be a prize. But this also proved to be an American, and we were compelled to chew the cud of disappointment.
"Why in blazes ain't you a Britisher?" muttered Tony Trybrace, yawning indignantly, as the true character of the stranger was discovered.