Instantly Captain Cain cast aside his train of disturbing thoughts. Hurrying to the bridge he levelled his binoculars.
"It's the Frenchman, my lads!" he shouted. "All hands to quarters! She's ours, my hearties!"
CHAPTER XI
THE FIGHT WITH THE SURCOUF
THE Surcouf, for such she was, was approaching at twelve knots. She was a two-funnelled craft of about 3000 tons, painted black with white upperworks. Occasionally visible between the eddying clouds of smoke from her funnels fluttered the tricolour from her ensign-staff; while at her foremost truck was displayed a white diamond on a red ground, bearing the letters MM.
From the Alerte's bridge, Captain Cain scanned the horizon. There was no other vessel in sight. Even the upper part of the Casquets Lighthouse, now twelve miles away, was invisible. Everything seemed propitious for the coming venture.
Quickly the crew went to stations. All the slackness and resentment to discipline seemed to have gone by the board. Orders were carried out with the utmost alacrity, until—"Wot you got there, Charlie?" demanded one of the hands of a messmate who was making his way aft with a red, white and black flag under his arm.
"German ensign," replied the other. "Cap'n's orders."
"Blowed if I'll fight under that rag," declared the first speaker hotly. "I'm an Englishman, I am. Don't mind the French tricolour, mark you, but the Hun ensign—no, thank you. What say you, chum?"