“We’ve got arms, sir,” said one of the men.
“And ammunition,” added another.
“Many a rich prize has been taken by a boat’s crew,” observed the coxswain, the oldest man in the boat.
“Well, Grey, suppose we just pull up to her and ascertain what she is,” said I.
“With all my heart,” he answered; “it’s a pity, now we have got the muskets and ammunition, if we have the chance, that we should not make use of them.”
I fully agreed with him. My only fear was that the schooner might after all not prove an enemy. The wind was dropping gradually—there was little doubt that we should get up to her.
“I suppose that the captain won’t mind much if she is an enemy and we attack her,” continued Grey. “He’ll suspect, though, that we disobeyed orders, and had arms in the boat.”
“Not if we take her,” I answered. “He’ll not ask questions. If we fail we shall get into a terrible row—we may count on that; but we must take her, and it will stick a feather in our caps, and put some dollars in our pockets too.”
We were pulling steadily on all this time. We got the muskets up, and ascertained that they were dry, and, loading them, placed them on the thwarts ready for use. The schooner held her course. There was just wind enough to fill her sails and no more. I felt convinced that she was French. I asked the coxswain, Ned Dawlish, his opinion. He agreed with me, and thought that she was a privateer.
“If so, she must be armed,” said I. “We will keep in her wake, and as in a short time she will not have steerage way, she will be unable to bring her guns to bear on us.”