There was hardly air enough to keep the sails from flapping. A schooner could do better than a square-rigged vessel under such circumstances, but that wind was an aggravating trial to a ship-load of excited privateersmen.
Captain McGrew had been permitted to come on deck, and Guert, as he reached the deck from aloft, was half sure that he had heard the Englishman chuckling maliciously, then heard him mutter:—
"The Bermuda ships never sail home without a strong convoy. These chaps'll catch it."
When Captain Avery himself came down and the opinion of the Spencer's captain was reported to him, he said:—
"From Bermuda, eh? That's likely. We're not far out o' their course, I'd say. Who cares for convoy? I don't. This feller nighest us is crippled and left behind. If it wasn't for this calm, my boy—"
There he became silent and stood still, staring hungrily to leeward.
Perhaps his manifest vexation was enjoyed by his English prisoner, but Captain McGrew very soon put on a graver face, for the sharp-nosed Noank was all the while slipping along, and the ship she was steering toward was almost as good as standing still. So must have been any heavier craft, warlike or otherwise.
An hour went by, another, and the deceptive British merchant flag still fluttered from the rigging of the Noank. The strange sail had made no attempt to signal her and there had been a reason for it. She had her own sharp-eyed lookouts, and these and her officers had been studying this schooner to windward of them.
"She's American built," they had said of her. "Most likely she's one of the Solway's prizes. The old seventy-four has picked up a dozen of them. She ought not to be coming this way though. She's running out of her course."
There was something almost suspicious about it, they thought. It might be all right, but they were at sea in war time, and there was no telling what might happen.