An hour later most of the pirates lay intoxicated under the tables, only two or three remaining erect, disputing the wager with Jonathan Hill, when the man at the helm shouted:
"Sail in sight!"
The cry sobered some of the pirates and, staggering forward, they recognized in the approaching vessel the ship seen the night before.
A strange dread took possession of them all. They hastily shook their drunken messmates from their dreams, pointed to the ship, and hurried to Barthelemy with the tidings. The latter noticed the terror in their faces, and said coldly:
"That is certainly the Portuguese sugar maker which fled from the Fox-Hound yesterday and, in trying to escape into some harbor, has now run between two fires."
"That's no Portuguese trader, sir," said one of the pirates in a trembling voice. "Before I deserted to you, I served on that ship and know her well. It is the Swallow."
"Well?" said Barthelemy, smiling scornfully, "and suppose she is, would my men be too cowardly to meet her?"
"She has one hundred and ten guns and is one of the best sailers in the navy."
"That makes no difference. Who are her captains?"