"Luff up under my stem and let's have a look at you," shouted an authoritative voice. "Where are you from, and where are you bound?"
"From Poole to Cowes," answered the master.
"And the cargo?"
"Clay."
"Lay-to while I send a boat," shouted the officer, and we distinctly heard the scurrying of bare feet and the creaking of the tackle as the seamen prepared to lower one of the quarter-boats.
"They'll have us right enough," whispered the ensign, as he prepared to rush on deck to throw his despatches, already weighted with lead, into the sea; but even as his foot was on the ladder we heard the voice continue, "Carry on with you." The bos'un's whistle sounded, and we heard the blocks creak as the frigate's yards were swung round.
Our vessel also resumed her course, and after some time had elapsed the cornet insisted on leaving the cabin.
"Who told you to come on deck?" bawled the master, his speech accompanied by a string of nautical oaths. "You jack-booted, brainless weathercock your tin figurehead has undone us!"
His words, though unceremonious, were quite true, for the frigate was keeping a sharp eye on us, and perceiving the cornet's steel cap emerge from the hatchway, the rebels concluded that they had made a mistake in not searching us.
Her yards were trimmed once more, and she started in pursuit. A spurt of flame followed by a cloud of smoke burst from one of her bow ports, and a shot struck the water fifty yards from our quarter, rebounding twice ere it sank.