Simon and I discussed the advisability of going again to the captain, and would have done so but for fear of being laughed at as cowards who were afraid of unarmed and imprisoned men.
It was hardly probable Captain Ropes had forgotten the report we made, and it seemed certain he would take some steps to shun the danger when, in his opinion, the time was ripe for such a move.
As I have already said, the excitement among our crew was so great that it seemed impossible for those detailed as guard to remain below; but one or the other of the three men was constantly running on deck to learn if a sail had hove in sight.
Thus it was we came to know that, about an hour before sunset, the lookout had sighted a heavily laden brig, and the America was put about in full chase.
Perhaps because of this fact no attempt was made to provide better accommodations for the prisoners.
They were forced to remain packed in the prison, many of them unable to lie down, and their threats and insubordination increased to an alarming degree.
“We shall have trouble before morning,” Simon said, in a tone of studied carelessness to one of the sentinels, hoping thereby to put the man more on his guard; but the latter replied, indifferently:
“Don’t get fancies into your head, lad. Them ’ere Britishers are where they can’t work any mischief, no matter how ripe they may be for it. When you’ve seen as many prisoners aboard ship as have come my way, you won’t bother yourself about what is possible for them to do while they’re unarmed an’ packed in snug as those fellows are.”
Fortunately, my comrade and I had not become so familiar with privateering as to render us careless, else the good ship America would never have sailed into a Yankee port with the stars and stripes flying, and this much Captain Ropes has said time and time again.