The frigate brought to in a more deliberate way, taking care to be to windward of the prize; boats were instantly lowered and manned, and Hardman and Glover hurried off to take possession. Perhaps the captain would have liked to have gone, but it would have been undignified. Glover soon returned with the satisfactory information that she was the “Carolina,” a large Spanish ship, richly laden from the Havanah to Cadiz. A prize crew was immediately put on board, and the prisoners were removed to the “Pallas.” They pulled their moustaches, lit their cigars, and resigned themselves to their lot. By dawn the next morning the “Carolina,” in charge of her new masters, with Glover as commander, was on her way to Plymouth.
Lord Claymore’s satisfaction was not small when he discovered that the “Carolina” formed one of a large convoy, and that it was believed the other ships were astern. Sharper than ever was the look-out kept for a strange sail. Day after day passed, however, and no merchantman or other ships appeared. Hardman began to crow, though the loss was his as well as that of the rest: it was an odd amusement, though some men will suffer anything to prove that they are true prophets.
A week had passed.
“I told you so, Morton,” he observed. “There’s many a slip between the cup and the lip. The convoy probably stole by us during the night when some of our volunteers, who had been keeping so sharp a look-out during the day, were nodding.”
“Sail ho!” was sung out at that moment in a loud cheerful tone from the mast-head.
“Who’ll prove right now?” exclaimed Morton, as he sprang aloft with his glass at his back.
Others were looking-out likewise. All sail was instantly made in chase. It was some time, however, before it could be made out whether the stranger was friend or foe, man-of-war or merchantman. At last Hardman condescended to take a look at her.
“Those sails have a decided English cut about them,” he observed, in a tone of satisfaction. “Depend on it she’s not got a dollar on board that will ever enter our pockets.”
“To my mind,” observed Job Truefitt, who with Bob Doull was standing on the fore-topgallant cross-trees, “that craft out there looks as if she was come from the land where the gold and silver grows. He looks like a Don, every inch of him. Mark my words, mate, we shall line our pockets with the rhino, and have a pretty handsome sum to take home to our old mothers or sweethearts.”
“Well for those who have them, but I have neither one nor t’other,” answered Bob. “I’ve made up my mind to have a jolly spree on shore, and live like a lord till it’s all gone.”