“What does she look like!” asked Lieutenant Stiles, who at that time was in charge of the deck.
“Blast me, sir! She looks all the world like that ship Peggy,” was the old salt’s ejaculation. “Only whoever she is, she’s flying the British flag.”
I was sent aloft with my glass to see if I could make her out, but could only confirm the report of the lookout.
“Keep your eye on her, Master Dunn,” the lieutenant directed. “We’ll run down nearer to her.”
In a half-hour I called out:
“She is certainly the ship Peggy, but she is carrying the English colors. No! there she runs them down, and is hoisting the Pine Tree flag in their place. Can it be she has changed them because she has discovered we are following her?”
“It looks that way, Midshipman Dunn,” the officer assented. “I’ll report the matter to Captain Tucker.”
He immediately came on deck, climbed up to the cross-trees, and, taking the glass from my hand, looked long and searchingly at the distant sail, and then said:
“There is something strange about this, Master Dunn. She is far south of her home port. We’ll overhaul her again, and look at her papers.”
In another hour we were in hailing distance, and Captain Tucker shouted: