“A large brig, sir, hard up against the wind. You can see her now without the glass.”
I looked in the direction indicated by Tailtackle, and sure enough, there was a dark mass towering above the surface of the water, dim and black like a spirit from the deep.
“She’s a large vessel, sir,” said Tailtackle, “there’s no doubt of that; there goes her lower sails, and now they’re furling her topsail; ha! she’s crossing our bows; look out, sir, here comes a shot.”
“The devil!” ejaculated I. I now saw the vessel plain enough, scudding before the wind.
“Keep her close to the wind––ease her a little––that’s right––now give that fellow a shot across his bows––we’ll find out what he’s made of. Reefpoint,” continued I, to one of the midshipmen, “show our signal.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
The shot was fired and the lights shown, but still our ghostly friend remained silent and dark.
“Scarfemwell,” said I to the gunner, “go forward to the long gun; Tailtackle, I’ve no great liking for that chap, open the magazine.”
The stranger had now neared us considerably, and he shortened sail; but when he found that his endeavors to cross our bows in order to rake us, were unsuccessful, as we ran with him before the wind, broadside to broadside, he hastily let go his topsail, as he was now not more than a cable’s length from us. At this moment, Tailtackle, in his shirt, pantaloons, and shoes, put his head out of the hatchway, and said: