This conversation was held under the lee of the frigate; in fact we were so close to her that she shadowed us completely, and although we were both hove to, I knew that we could swing off before she could get the weather-gage. I feared doing this myself, but I knew that my coming on board would disarm all suspicion, and that Chips might be able to carry out the plan.
From the southwest a fog-bank was approaching—I had made note of it—and the air was filled already with fine particles of moisture. It was no easy job to bring the little dingy alongside. But at last we were able to do so, thanks to the good oarsmanship of Caldwell, and at last I grasped the rope-ladder that had been lowered from the gangway, and came on deck. The boatswain shrilled his whistle, and the side-boys touched their caps. A fine-looking officer stepped forward to meet me, saluting and extending his hand.
"Your name, sir?" he inquired.
It would not do to hesitate. I was running risks, of course, but no half-way measures would suffice.
"John Hurdiss, Lieutenant, commanding the cutter Bat," I replied.
"Will you come with me to my cabin, Mr. Hurdiss? I'm Mallet, of the Cæsar."
I followed him at once.
"Isn't it rather a strange thing for you to be in this latitude and longitude, when your station is on the coast?" he continued, severely.
"Not when you understand the circumstances, Captain Mallet," I replied. And forthwith I began a story of how I had chased a small Yankee privateer for the last three days, and that she had given me the slip but the night before.
"I shall make a report of this affair, and it shall be looked into," he said. "Go back on board your vessel, and return to your cruising-grounds."