"Headin' this way, sure!"
"I guess so," said the captain, quietly. "It's gettin' dusk, though. Her glasses won't do any good, much longer.—Men! All sail! Jump, now! Our time's come!"
His manner had undergone a sudden change, and there was a red flush on his face. The men heard him say to his son:—
"No, Vine, I won't be taken. I'll fight that nighest feller, if I've got to. He isn't a heavy one."
His orders went out fast, and the schooner was quickly under a cloud of canvas. She had indeed been noticed by the British commanders, and arrangements had been made to overhaul her, as a matter of course.
Her flight, or at least her escape, from such a fleet as she was now facing, was an absurdity not to be thought of. Whatever sort of American craft she might be, she was soon to have an officer and a boat's crew on board of her, ascertaining how many of her sailors it was best to take into the service of the king.
"Father," suggested Vine, "they won't send a boat till they're nearer than this, a good deal. The sea's getting a bit rough, too, and the wind's fresh'ning."
"I don't care how many boats they send," replied the captain. "I can sink 'em as they come. We'll run farther in behind Nantucket, but we won't go too far. The redskin says he saw a topsail off the channel that's cut too square to suit us."
"Reg'lar cruiser's tops'l," put in Sam Prentice. "How she came to be there, I don't know. Are they layin' a trap for us? Lyme, this 'ere's goin' to be touch and go."
"It'll be go, then," said the captain.