He had hardly reached the crosstrees when he hailed the deck:
“Sail on port bow!” he bawled, and pointed in the direction the vessel bore, which was just over the port cat-head. My heart gave a jump, but I tried to appear careless. I climbed up a few ratlines in the mizzen and looked forward. In a moment I saw a tiny white speck reflecting the slanting light of the sun. Then I looked down on deck and caught the look in Brown’s eyes. He was ready for action.
Our vessel had been fitted out for a long voyage, the run to China often taking five months; but the excesses of the convicts had quickly finished off the kegs of spirits and the bottled liquors for the after-cabin mess. The three men who acted as cooks were kept busy all the time serving out the plundered victuals meant for the after-guard, so that after the first week Benson was forced to cut them down to ship’s rations. This had caused a mutiny, and it was only put down after a few men were killed and some injured. The effects of the disturbance were still visible and there was a good deal of loud grumbling done forward at meal-time.
Johnson gazed at the strange sail a few moments, and then told the man at the wheel to luff all he could and bade me attend to the bracing of the yards. I saw what he meant to do, and never did I jam a ship’s yards on to her backstays as I did them.
I believe the villain intended to commit piracy from the first; but, aside from this, he had such an overpowering taste for liquor that he was willing to run any risk in order to procure some, either by trade or otherwise, without waiting for Benson.
The wind held steady and we went through the smooth sea at the rate of eight or nine knots. The stranger rose rapidly on our weather bow, and it was evident that we were overhauling him fast enough.
At eight bells his courses were rising above the water, and my heart was pounding away under my ribs like a sledge. The men aboard us were about as poor sailors as, inversely, they were a fine set of rascals. Otherwise, they would have been suspicious, on seeing the depth of the stranger’s topsails, and stood away to leeward with all possible speed.
When I had had a good look at the canvas ahead, I could hardly keep from smiling, and I feared I might do something to show my thoughts. I knew no merchant vessel afloat hoisted a full topsail fore and aft.
“What is he?” asked Johnson, coming close to me when I came on the poop.
“I can’t tell at this distance,” I answered, “but he looks to be a West Coast trader. Most likely he is one with a mixed cargo.”