Both of them had vanished. They had tacked toward Porto Rico and the officers of the Tigress, in particular, were keeping a sharp lookout for the newly arrived British man-of-war that had burned rockets so very promisingly in the night.
"It's all right, Lieutenant," remarked Captain Frobisher. "The gale has carried her along finely. We shall find her in port when we get there."
"I wish we may!" growled the very sharp lieutenant, "but I don't like it. I didn't exactly make out the reading of that second rocket. Perhaps a lubber sent it up. We'll see."
On went the schooner and the bark without any outside observers. Down sank the tired-out gale, and the sun broke through the clouds.
"Coco!" shouted Captain Avery, at last, "haul down that lobster flag and run up the stars and stripes. Vine, give 'em that forward starboard gun. All hands to quarters! 'Bout ship! Men! she's our prize!"
A ringing sound of cheers answered him, and the report of the gun followed. It was a signal for the Englishman to heave to, and her captain dashed his hat upon the deck.
"Caught!" he groaned. "Taken by the rebels! I wish they were all sunk a hundred fathoms deep."
Loud, angry voices from all parts of his ship responded with similar sentiments relating to American pirates, but there could be no thought of resistance. The bark was hove to, and her flag came down in a hurry as if to avoid all danger of further shotted cannonading.
"Ship ahoy!" came loudly across the water. "What bark's that?"
"Bark Spencer, Captain McGrew. Porto Rico for Liverpool. Cargo. No passengers. Who are you?"