"This Black Schooner was one of the craft employed in protecting the French fishery of Miquelon, on the south side of the island," said Hartly; "but her crew mutinied, shipped some runaways of all countries and colours, and turned slavers. These rascals have committed several outrages hereabouts by sea and land, but have always escaped our cruisers, as she alternately shows a British, French, and Yankee ensign, and runs all kinds of paint-strokes along her bends."
On, on, we bore; and on, on, she came after us, with the still freshening breeze, the foam flying before her bows and ours; but ere long we were evidently half a mile apart.
She was a handsome clipper-like craft of about two hundred tons' burthen, coppered to the bends; her lower masts were long and heavy, so as to carry fore and aft sails of immense spread upon a wind, with a square sail, top and topgallant sail aloft.
"Massa Hartly—Massa Captain—look out!" exclaimed Cuffy Snowball, who had armed himself with a musket, and stood in soldier-fashion at "the ready," grinning over the taffrail at the rolling schooner.
"Look out for what?" said Hans Peterkin.
"Something make you all look white as de debbil."
"What do you mean by white," asked the carpenter, "when we all know the devil is black?"
"In my country him white, sare," replied Cuffy, angrily.
"Then," said Hartly, to keep up the spirits of his crew by jesting, "what colour do you think he is, Cuffy?"
"I tink him blue," replied the prudent negro; and then he added with a yell, "dere come something will make you look blue too, Massa!"