Nearly a league beyond the slaver, looming up above the mist, we could now make out three topmasts, clearly defined, the stately set of which, with their firm and substantial rig, betrayed the fact that there floated beneath them the hull of a French or an English man-of-war, such as was commissioned at that time to cruise in these waters for the purpose of intercepting and capturing the vessels engaged in the African slave trade.
"A cruiser has scented the brigantine," said Don Herero.
"It certainly appears so," we affirmed.
"Unless there be sharp eyes on board the little craft, the cruiser will be down upon her before her people even suspect their danger."
"The brigantine can hardly escape, at any rate," we suggested.
"Don't be too sure," said Don Herero.
It was impossible for our friend to suppress the nervous anxiety which so manifestly actuated him as he viewed the new phase of affairs.
"Look! Look!" he exclaimed.
While he spoke, a drapery of snow-white canvas fell like magic from the spars of the slaver, ready to catch the first breath of the breeze which the stranger was bringing down with him, though the larger vessel was still partially wrapped in a thin bank or cloud of fog. A couple of long sweeps were rigged out of either bow of the brigantine, and her prow, which just before was heading shoreward, was swung to seaward, while her canvas was trimmed to catch the first breath of the on-coming breeze.
"This looks like business," said Don Herero with emphasis, at the same time shading his eyes with both hands to get a better view of the situation.