All show of mutiny had disappeared from the faces of the crew, so far as I could make out.
The strangeness of the situation had driven away all discontent, and once more was the America manned by big-hearted, whole-souled Yankee sailors.
During the drills which had been carried on regularly from the beginning of the cruise, Simon and I came to know that our stations in time of an engagement were at Master Joshua’s gun, and although it was not possible lads like us could be of any assistance in carrying ammunition while the ship was plunging so violently, we went to our posts as if counting on rendering all necessary service.
“Yonder is a prize well worth the taking, lads,” Master Josh shouted as we approached, and it was easy for us to understand that he had in mind something different from omens and signs of danger. “She’s every inch as good a sailer as the America, and but for the carrying away of her topmast, we never should have overhauled her.”
“She must be an armed vessel, else we would not have been called to quarters,” I ventured to say, speaking like a simple, for such a statement under the circumstances was needless.
“Ay, lad, but carrying less metal than do we.”
“In such case I should think it would be wiser for her to surrender than fight,” Simon added.
I knew by my own heart that he was wishing such might be the case, for an engagement at any time was by no means to our liking, and while the gale raged so furiously it seemed doubly terrible.
“She’s reckonin’ on cripplin’ us by some lucky shot, and thereby makin’ her escape. Marksmanship won’t count for a great deal in this weather, and it’ll be more by accident than good wit if a single ball hits its target.”