"We're sorry for you, Mrs. Williams," said another woman. "I don't know where mine are. We can't get any word from our 'pressed boys. God pity 'em!—God in heaven send success to the Noank and Lyme Avery! To our sailors on the sea and our soldiers on the land!"
"Amen!" went up from several earnest voices, and then there was another round of hearty cheers.
Away down the broad harbor the gallant schooner was speeding, with Guert Ten Eyck astride of her bowsprit. Up-na-tan and Coco were crouching like a pair of tigers at the side of the pivot guns. The crew was both numerous and well selected, for it consisted of the pick of the New London whaling veterans. The majority of them, of course, were middle aged or even elderly, so many of the younger men had marched away with Putnam or were at this time garrisoning the forts of the harbor.
There was to be no long and tiresome waiting. Hardly was the Noank well out beyond the point at the harbor mouth before Sam Prentice, from his perch aloft, called down to his friends on the deck:—
"I've sighted her! She's made too long a tack this way for her good. We'll git out well to wind'ard of her. She's sure game!"
Every seaman on board understood just what that meant, and he was answered by a storm of cheers. Nevertheless, the face of Captain Avery was serious, for he had no means of knowing what might really be the strength and armament of the stranger.
As for her, she had all sail set, and her skipper was at the helm, while Mate Brackett was in the maintop taking anxious observations.
"Sail to wind'ard," he said to himself. "Hope there's no mischief in her. Anyhow, I'll go down and have Captain Watts send the men to quarters."
Down he went and reported, and Captain Watts responded vigorously.
"Most likely a coaster," he said, "but we won't take any chances. Call the men. Any but a pretty strong rebel 'll sheer away if she finds we're ready for her. We'll shoot first, Brackett. I'm a fightin' man—I am!"