There was then a sharp altercation between the speaker and another person who appeared to have just come upon deck. After a moment the new voice cried harshly: “Condor, ahoy!”
“Ahoy!” answered Ethan.
“Heave to; I’m coming aboard of you.”
“We can’t have him do that,” said the boy to Longsword.
“The moment he set foot on this deck, the men would tell him everything,” agreed the Irish soldier.
“Clap on more sail,” said Ethan; “we’ll run for it.”
The men, at Longsword’s stern command, set the foresail and a couple of topsails; under the increased pressure, the Condor drew away, and the Drake faded to a blur and at last the mist swallowed her up all altogether.
“Put out all the lights,” called Ethan. “We can give her the slip in this fog.”
Longsword promptly extinguished all the lanterns; shouts from the Drake came ever more dimly through the night; a drum throbbed dully.
“They are beating to quarters,” said Ethan.