"Maybe it's her's," said the captain, grimly. "I won't call up the men for a bit. If there's a hard fight a-comin', a rest won't hurt 'em. It may be a Spanish coast-guard or a Frenchman. Everything down this way isn't British. Up-na-tan, take this night-glass and see what you can make of her."
The Manhattan came at once for the telescope, but a sudden change had come over the manners of Coco. It began with a curious kind of sniffing, sniffing, like a pointer dog in the neighborhood of game. Then he left his precious gun and glided to the rail, shaking his head and chattering harsh words in a tongue which nobody who heard could recognize.
Guert went over to join him, and his first glance at the face of the old African astonished him. It was absolutely convulsed with fury. The black man's hands were clenched, his teeth were grinding, and his eyes seemed to flash fire.
"What's the matter?" asked Guert. "Can you see anything out there?"
An angry screech, and then a guttural, wrathful war-cry, sprung from the lips of Coco.
At that moment Up-na-tan had been looking at the strange sail through the telescope.
"Brig," he had said. "All sail set. Big as the Santa Teresa. No cruiser. No Englishman ever set a foresail like that."
His implied compliment to the neatness of British seamanship was cut short by the yell of Coco, and he instantly lowered his glass.
"Whoo-oop!" he responded. "'Peak out! What Coco find?"
"Slaver!" screeched the African. "Coco smell him! Where Up-na-tan lose he nose?"