As soon as all was ready, the captain sternly ordered silence. By this time the brig was near enough to hail. I could see her decks quite plainly, and they were filled with men. I counted her guns, too, and ascertained she had but ten, all of which seemed to be lighter than our own. One circumstance that I observed, however, was suspicious. Her forecastle was crowded with men, who appeared to be crouching behind the bulwarks, as if anxious to conceal their presence from the eyes of those in the Tigris. I had a mind to jump on a back-stay and slip down on deck, to let this threatening appearance be known; but I had heard some sayings touching the imperative duty of remaining at quarters in face of the enemy, and I did not like to desert my station. Tyroes have always exaggerated notions both of their rights and their duties, and I had not escaped the weakness. Still, I think some credit is due for the alternative adopted. During the whole voyage, I had kept a reckoning, and paper and pencil were always in my pocket, in readiness to catch a moment to finish a day's work. I wrote as follows on a piece of paper, therefore, as fast as possible, and dropped the billet on the quarter-deck, by enclosing a copper in the scrawl, cents then being in their infancy. I had merely written—“The brig's forecastle is filled with armed men, hid behind the bulwarks!” Captain Digges heard the fall of the copper, and looking up—nothing takes an officer's eyes aloft quicker than to find anything coming out of a top!—he saw me pointing to the paper. I was rewarded for this liberty by an approving nod. Captain Digges read what I had written, and I soon observed Neb and the cook filling the engine with boiling water. This job was no sooner done than a good place was selected on the quarter-deck for this singular implement of war, and then a hail came from the brig.
“Vat zat sheep is?” demanded some one from the brig.
“The Tigris of Philadelphia, from Calcutta home. What brig is that?”
“La Folie—corsair Français. From vair you come?”
“From Calcutta. And where are you from?”
“Guadaloupe. Vair you go, eh?”
“Philadelphia. Do not luff so near me; some accident may happen.”
“Vat you call 'accident?' Can nevair hear, eh? I will come tout près.”
“Give us a wider berth, I tell you! Here is your jib boom nearly foul of my mizen-rigging.”
“Vat mean zat, bert' vidair? eh! Allons, mes enfants, c'est le moment!”