Every officer, man, and boy, not otherwise especially engaged, had their eyes directed ahead, watching the chase, as her sails gradually rose above the horizon. What she was had not yet been ascertained. She might be a man-of-war, or perhaps, only a merchantman. If the first, we hoped she would fight; if the latter, that she might carry a rich freight. After a time, I saw Mr Johnson rubbing his eyes, and, suddenly bringing his hand down on his thigh with a loud smack, he exclaimed—“She’s only a Yankee merchantman, after all.” The stranger was evidently making no attempt at escape; indeed, before long, she lost the wind altogether, though we carried it on till we got within about a mile of her. We then found that the boatswain was right; indeed, it is easy to know an American merchantman by her light-coloured hull, breadth of beam, low masts, square yards, and white canvas.
As we lay rolling away, a boat was lowered from the stranger, from whose peak the stars and stripes hung down, so that none but a practical eye could have made out the flag.
The boat came alongside, and a gentleman, in a broad-brimmed straw hat and jean jacket, stepped on board, with a cigar in his mouth, and walking aft with the greatest coolness, put out his hand to Captain Collyer, who, looking true dignity itself, was standing on the quarter-deck, with his officers round him. Not a little electrified was he by the address now made him.
“How goes it with you, skipper?” quoth the stranger, almost wringing his hand off. “You’ve a neat little craft under your feet, I guess, but we’ve got some who’d wallop her in pretty smart time. You’d like to know who I am? I’m Captain Nathan Noakes; I command that ship there, the Hickory Stick, and I should like to see her equal. She’s the craft to go, let me tell you. When the breeze comes, I’ll soon show you the pair of heels she’s got. We’ll run away from you like greased lightning, I guess.”
“She looks a fine vessel, sir,” said Captain Collyer, too polite to turn away, as some men I have known might have done.
“She is, sir,” said the American master with emphasis.
“I calculate she’d sail twice round the world while you was going once; but don’t rile, now, at what I say—you can’t help it, you know. Come, take a cigar—they’re real Havanna.”
“Thank you, sir, I do not smoke,” said our captain with naturally increasing stiffness, “nor is it customary, I must observe, for any one to do so on the quarter-deck of his Britannic Majesty’s ships.”
“Ah! that’s the difference between slavery and freedom,” answered the stranger, with most amusing effrontery, lighting another cigar as he spoke. “You serve the tyrant King George. I serve myself, and no one else, and I like my master best of the two; but I pity you—you can’t help it.”
Some of the officers were very indignant at the impudence of the Yankee captain; others were highly amused, and I believe Captain Collyer was, for he turned away at last to hide his laughter. Nothing, however, seemed to abash the skipper.