An hour afterwards the crow's-nest was rigged and hoisted at the
main-truck, and either the mate or the captain was in it off and on the
whole day. But no pirate appeared that day nor the next. In the
evening, however, some fishermen boarded the _Arrandoon_, and reported
having seen a large barque, answering to the description of the
suspected craft, that same morning lying at anchor off Suddersoe, with
boats passing to and fro 'twixt ship and shore.
"It is my precious opinion, captain," said old Magnus Bolt, "that this
craft does a bit o' smuggling 'tween here and Shetland."
"And it is my precious opinion, my dear Magnus," said McBain, "that the
rascal doesn't care what he does so long as he lands the cash."
The _Arrandoon_ was now kept away for the island named by the honest
fishermen. Not straight, however; McBain gave it a wide berth, and
passed it far to the west, and held on his course until many miles to
the southward. In the morning it was "bout ship" and stand away north
and by east again. They sighted the island about seven bells in the
morning watch. Suddenly there was a hail from the crow's-nest. It was
the captain's voice.
"Come up here, Magnus Bolt, if your old bones will let you, and see what
you shall see."
Magnus sprang up the rigging somewhat after the fashion of an antiquated
monkey, but with an agility no one would have given him credit for.
"It is she!" he shouted, after he had had a look through the long glass
in towards the iron-bound shores of the islands; "it is she! it is she!
Ha! ha! ha!" and he positively danced and chuckled with delight.
"You'll fight? you'll fight?" he gasped. "Rather," replied McBain; "but
we'll run first. She shall fire the first shot, and, Magnus, you shall
fire the second."
Half an hour afterwards, when our heroes came on deck to have their
morning look around, they stared at each other in blank astonishment.
The _Arrandoon_ looked as if she had just come out of a tornado and had
been dreadfully handled. The foretop-gallant mast was down, the jibboom
inboard, the screw was hoisted up, the funnel itself had been unshipped
and was lashed to the deck, and the flag was flying at half-mast, as if
the vessel were in distress, or had death on board.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Now let me, with one touch of the fairy wand the storyteller wields,
waft my readers on board the pirate herself. Fear not, for we will stay
there but a brief space of time indeed. The tall and by no means
unprepossessing form of the captain, armed _cap-a-pie_, is leaning
against the rudder-wheel, one spoke of which he holds. His mate is by
his side, glass in hand, examining the _Arrandoon_, now only a few miles
off.
"Ha! ha!" says the latter; "it is the same big craft we tried to strand;
and she's had dirty weather, too--foretop-gallant mast and jibboom both
gone. She is flying a signal of distress."
"Distress? Eh? Ha! ha! ha?" laughed the pirate. "Isn't it funny?
She'll have more of it; won't she, matie mine?"