“Ahoy,” came from the ship, which had run off some little distance before her yards could be dressed to meet the change of course. She was now looming up huge and grim through the mists of the early morning. “What ship is that?”
“Answer,” Longsword said to one of the British seamen.
The man hesitated sullenly: but the fierce, crushing grip that the dragoon suddenly put upon his shoulder caused him to call out at the top of his voice:
“His Majesty’s schooner, Condor.”
The ship was now very close at hand, indeed the two vessels were within easy pistol shot of each other.
“This is the frigate, Drake,” came the voice from the ship deck. “Who’s your commander?”
“Captain Spencer.”
“Have you run across any other vessel since dark?”
“No,” answered the sailor at Longsword’s prompting.
“We are looking for the pirate, Paul Jones; he’s reported to be in these waters. Look out for him.”