There were still some hours of daylight and every vessel they passed was carefully studied by McHale.
“I know the Montespan very well,” said he. “There is a rake to her tall masts that I could recognize anywhere above the horizon.”
But night came on and still there was no sign of the desired vessel. The lugger squared away for Plymouth, and morning found her cutting the choppy seas of the channel, well upon her way. While the captain and his two passengers were at breakfast the lookout shouted:
“Sail ho!”
Instantly Captain McHale was upon deck, glass in hand.
“Where away?” he asked.
“Right ahead, sir.”
The skipper of the privateer took a long, thirsty look, and then cried, delightedly,
“It’s the Montespan, by the gods of war!”
Ethan and Longsword each took a look at the chase through the glass. Then the former said,