Norcross, the mate, leaned over the rail and spoke to one of the men on the deck below him.
"Dash, do you know that vessel, my man?"
"Indeed I do, sir," was the reply from the light-haired seaman who had appeared so elated at the escape of the previous day. "It's his Majesty's sloop-of-war Little Belt, if I'm not mistaken, and she is a little floating hell, sir; that's what she is!"
Nevertheless, as I have said, she was a trim-looking craft, and I could not but admire the way the men tumbled into the boat and the long, well-timed sweep of the oars as they pulled toward us. When alongside, within a few yards, a young man in a huge cocked hat stood up in the stern-sheets.
"What brig is that?" he asked, brusquely.
Captain Morrison answered, giving our name and destination.
"I will board you," was the short reply of the cocked-hatted one, and he gave orders to the bowman, who was ready with his boat-hook, to make fast to the fore-chains.
The English seamen, a sturdy-looking set, were all armed with cutlasses, and four or five of them followed their officer over the bulwarks.
The young Britisher's insolence must have been hard to stand.
"Muster your crew and let me see your papers," he ordered, with a toss of his head; "I would have a look at both of them."