For two days there was a subdued aspect onboard. The men joked less. There were fewer guffaws. Even "Sally" was not sung; and all on board, from the Colonel downward, bore the aspect of men impressed with the fact that something unusual had happened.
But soon a change came. Everything in the past was forgotten. The actual present became of vital moment, for in the early morning, "Sail ahead," sounded from the look-out. "Three-masted. West-by-sou'-west-and-over-to-larboard."
"What flag?" shouted the officer on duty.
"Too far off. Can't tell yet," was the answer.
In another minute, Captain Osborne was there too; and in the distance, brightened by the sunlight, he discerned a little speck of white canvas. The hull of the vessel was still hidden by the curve of the ocean. Bringing his glass to bear, he exclaimed to Sir George who stood beside him:
"I see it now; and, by heaven, it's the Yankee flag!"
"What's her course?" he yelled to the man aloft.
"Bearing down upon us, tacking to nor'-east. Now I see her flag. It's the Stars and Stripes. Looks like a man-of-war. The black spots must be her guns."
"Clear ship for action," shouted the captain in ringing tones.
Quickly the decks were swept of all but guns, canister and shot. Pikes, pistols and rifles were ready. Gun tackles were lashed. Every man was at his post.