I thought that there was something ironical in his tone as he spoke, and that he more than probably knew perfectly well all about the stranger.
“Whatever she may be,” I answered, “I’ll show her my heels. Make all sail, Grampus.”
“Ay, ay, sir,” he replied; and in a short time, the skipper pulling and hauling with as good a will as the rest, we had every stitch of canvas packed on the sloop which she could carry. I fancied, however, that the skipper gave a knowing look at me as he went forward, as much as to say, “You may make all the sail you like, but it won’t do.” At all events, I soon found that the Ranger, though a very good sea boat, was a tub in regard to sailing, under-rigged especially, as she was, for greater convenience in handling.
The stranger was walking up to us fast. As the morning sun fell on her sails they appeared to me very white, and to have a wide spread, and I began to hope that she might prove an English man-of-war brig. Another two hours, however, banished any such hopes, and I was convinced, on looking at Jotham Scuttle’s countenance, that she was likely to prove his friend, but my enemy.
“What do you think of her now, Mr Scuttle?” I asked.
“She’s a brig,” he answered innocently.
“Anyone can see that with half an eye,” said I; “but what is she? Where does she hail from?”
“Well, then, maybe she hails from a provincial port,” he answered slowly. “I should not be very much surprised, too, if she carries guns.”
“A rebel privateer or pirate, in fact,” said I.
“An American privateer, if you please, sir, I have no doubt she is,” he replied; “in two or three hours, I guess, you will find it safer to call her so, at all events.”