The Mexican laughed aloud, but not only Ned Crawford but several of the sailors were eyeing that unexpected bunting with red and angry faces. They also were Americans, and they had national prejudices.
“You don’t like the British flag, eh?” he said. “I do, then, just now. An American cruiser would not fire a shot at that flag half so quick as it would at your own.”
“Why wouldn’t she?” asked Ned.
“DO YOU SEE THAT? WHAT DOES IT MEAN?”
“Because,” said the señor, a little dryly, “the American skipper hasn’t any British navy behind him, ready to take the matter up. It’s a protection in case we can’t outrun that sloop-of-war. The men won’t care a cent, as soon as they know it’s only a sea dodge to get into port with.”
Sailor-like, they were indeed easily satisfied with whatever the captain chose to tell them, and on went the Goshawk as a British craft, but she was nevertheless carrying supplies to the Mexican army.
Señor Zuroaga had brought up a double spy-glass of his own, and, after studying the stranger through it, he handed it to Ned, remarking:
“Take a look at her. She’s a beauty. She is drawing nearer on this tack, but nobody knows yet whether she can outrun us or not.”