“Captain Gordon’s,” replied our Captain, for he knew that Captain Gordon commanded an English ship, modelled and built much like the Boston, and had been unusually successful in taking American prizes.
“Where are you from?”
“From New York.”
“We are from there also.”
“When did you leave?”
“About six days ago. I’m after the frigate Boston to take that rebel Tucker. I’ve sworn I’ll earn the price set on his head, and am bound to carry him dead or alive into New York. Have you seen him?”
“Well,” rejoined Captain Tucker, “I have heard of him. They say he is a hard customer.”
During all this conversation, he had been quietly manœuvering to bring his ship into a raking position, so as to sweep the decks of the English frigate. He had every man at his post, his guns shotted, and his gunners with lighted matches in their hands all awaiting his orders.
But it happened that there was a man in the maintop of the Pole who had formerly known Captain Tucker, and he now cried out to the English captain:
“That is surely Tucker himself, and we shall have a hot time here directly!”