MUSIC IN THE MOONLIGHT
Several days passed and from the standpoint of the schooner the voyage
was successful. The wind continued fresh and strong, and it came out of
the right quarter. The days were clear, the sea was a dazzling color,
shifting as the sky over it shifted. The slaver was in high good humor.
His crew seemed to be under perfect control and went about their work
mostly in silence. They rarely sang, as sailors sing, but Robert,
watching them on spar or mast, although he knew little about ships, knew
that they were good sailors. He realized, too, that the crew was very
large for a vessel of its size, and he believed that he understood the
reason.
As for himself, he felt a vast loneliness. It was incredible, but he was
there on the schooner far from all he had known. The forest, in which he
had lived and the war that had concerned the whole world had sunk out of
sight beyond the horizon. And on the schooner he had made no
acquaintance save the slaver. He knew that the mate was called Carlos,
but he had not yet spoken to him. He tried his best to be cheerful, but
there were times when despair assailed him in spite of all his courage
and natural buoyancy.
"Better reconsider," said the slaver one day, catching the look upon his
face. "As I've told you, Peter, the life on the plantations is hard and
they don't last long, no matter how strong they are. There's peril in
the life I lead, I'll admit, but at least there's freedom also. Sport's
to be found among the islands, and along the Spanish Main."
"I couldn't think of it," said Robert.
"Well, it's the second time I've made you the offer, and the last. I
perceive you're bent on a life in the sugar cane, and you'll have your
wish."
Robert, seeing no chance of escape from the ship now, began to hope for
rescue from without. It was a time of war and all vessels were more than
commonly wary, but one might come at last, and, in some way he would
give a signal for help. How he did not know, but the character of the
schooner was more than doubtful, and he might be able, in some way, yet
unsuggested, to say so to any new ship that came.
But the surface of the sea, so far as their own particular circle of it
was concerned, was untroubled by any keel save their own. It was as lone
and desolate as if they were the first vessel to come there. They fell
into a calm and the schooner rocked in low swells but made no progress.
The sun shone down, brassy and hot, and Robert, standing upon the deck,
looked at the sails flapping idly above. Although it carried him farther
and farther away from all for which he cared, he wished that the wind
would rise. Nothing was more tedious than to hang there upon the surface
of the languid ocean. The slaver read his face.
"You want us to go on," he said, "and so do I. For once we are in
agreement. I'd like to make a port that I know of much sooner than I
shall. The war has brought privateersmen into these seas, and there are
other craft that any ship can give a wide berth."
"If the privateer should be British, or out of one of our American ports
why should you fear her?" asked Robert.
"I'm answering no such questions except to say that in some parts of the
world you're safer alone, and this is one of the parts."
The dead calm lasted two days and two nights, and it was like forever to
Robert. When the breeze came at last, and the sails began to fill, new
life flowed into his own veins, and hope came back. Better any kind of
action than none at all, and he drew long breaths of relief when the
schooner once more left her trailing wake in the blue sea. The wind blew
straight and strong for a day and night, then shifted and a long period
of tacking followed. It was very wearisome, but Robert, clinging to his
resolution, made the best of it. He even joined in some of the labor,
helping to polish the metal work, especially the eighteen-pounder in the
stern, a fine bronze gun. The men tolerated him, but when he tried to
talk with them he found that most of them had little or no English, and
he made scant progress with them in that particular. The big first mate,
Carlos, rebuffed him repeatedly, but he persisted, and in time the
rebuffs became less brusque. He also noticed a certain softening of the
sailors toward him. His own charm of manner was so great that it was
hard to resist it when it was continuously exerted, and sailors, like
other men, appreciate help when it is given to them continuously. The
number of frowns for him decreased visibly.
He still ate at the captain's table, why he knew not, but the man seemed
to fancy his company; perhaps there was no other on the schooner who was
on a similar intellectual level, and he made the most of the opportunity
to talk.
"Peter," he said, "you seem to have ingratiated yourself to a certain
extent with my crew. I'm bound to admit that you're a personable young
rascal, with the best manners I've met in a long time, but I warn you
that you can't go far. You'll never win 'em over to your side, and be
able to lead a mutiny which will dethrone me, and put you in command."
"I've no such plan in my mind," said Robert laughing. "I don't know
enough about sailing to take command of the ship, and I'd have to leave
everything to Carlos, whom I'd trust, on the whole, less than I do you."
"You're justified in that. Carlos is a Spaniard out of Malaga, where he
was too handy with the knife, just as he has been elsewhere. Whatever I
am, you're safer with me than you would be with Carlos, although he's a
fine sailor and loyal to me."
"How long will it be before we make any of the islands?"
"It's all with the wind, but in any event it will be quite a while yet.
It's a long run from New York down to the West Indies. Moreover, we may
be blown out of our course at any time."
"Are we in the stormy latitudes?"
"We are. Hurricanes appear here with great suddenness. You noticed how
hot it was to-day. We're to have another calm, and the still, intense
heat is a great breeder of storms. I think one will come soon, but don't
put any faith in its helping you, Peter. To be saved that way once is
all the luck you can expect. If we were wrecked here you'd surely go
down; it's too far from land."
"I'm not expecting another wreck, nor am I hoping for it," said Robert.
"I'm thinking the land will be better for me. I'll make good my escape
there. I've been uncommonly favored in that way. Once I escaped from you
and twice from the French and Indians, so I think my future will hold
good."
"Maybe it will, Peter. As resolute an optimist as you ought to succeed.
If you escape after I deliver you to the plantation 'twill be no concern
to me at all. On the whole I'm inclined to hope you will, for I'm rather
beginning to like you, spite of all the trouble you've caused me and
that time you beat me with the swords before my own men."
Robert's heart leaped up. Could the man be induced to relent in his
plan, whatever it was? But his hope fell the next moment, when the
slaver said:
"Though I tell you, Peter, I'm going to stick to my task. You'll be
handed over to the plantation, whatever comes. After that, it's for
others to watch you, and I rather hope you'll get the better of 'em."
The storm predicted by the slaver arrived within six hours, and it was a
fearful thing. It came roaring down upon them, and the wind blew with
such frightful violence that Robert did not see how they could live
through it, but live they did. Both the captain and mate revealed great
seamanship, and the schooner was handled so well and behaved so
handsomely that she drove through it without losing a stick.
When the hurricane passed on the sea resumed its usual blue color, and,
the dead, heavy heat gone, the air was keen and fresh. Robert, although
he did not suffer from seasickness, had been made dizzy by the storm,
and he felt intense relief when it was over.
"You'll observe, Peter," said the slaver, "that we're coming into
regions of violence both on land and sea. You've heard many a tale of
the West Indies. Well, they're all true, whatever they are, earthquakes,
hurricanes, smugglers, pirates, wild Englishmen, Frenchmen, Americans,
Spaniards, Portuguese, deeds by night that the day won't own, and the
prize for the strongest. It's a great life, Peter, for those that can
live it."
The close-set eyes flashed, and the nostrils dilated. Despite the
apparent liking that the slaver had shown for him, Robert never doubted
his character. Here was a man to whom the violent contrasts and violent
life of the West Indian seas appealed. He wondered what was the present
mission of the schooner, and he thought of the bronze eighteen-pounder,
and of the dirks and pistols in the belts of the crew.
"I prefer the north," he said. "It's cooler there and people are more
nearly even, in temper and life."
"Your life there has been in peril many times from the Indians."
"That's true, but I understand the Indians. Those who are my friends are
my friends, and those who are my enemies are my enemies. I take it that
in the West Indies you never know what change is coming."
"Correct, Peter, but it's all a matter of temperament. You like what you
like, because you're made that way, and you can't alter it, but the West
Indies have seen rare deeds. Did you ever hear of Morgan, the great
buccaneer?"
"Who hasn't?"
"There was a man for you! No law but his own! Willing to sack the
biggest and strongest cities on the Spanish Main and did it, too! Ah,
Peter, 'twould have been a fine thing to have lived in his day and to
have done what he did."
"I shouldn't care to be a pirate, no matter how powerful, and no matter
how great the reward."
"Again it's just a matter of temperament. I'm not trying to change you,
and you couldn't change me."
Came another calm, longer than the first. They hung about for days and
nights on a hot sea, and captain and crew alike showed anxiety and
impatience. The captain was continually watching the horizon with his
glasses, and he talked to Robert less than usual. It was obvious that he
felt anxiety.
The calm was broken just before nightfall. Dark had come with the
suddenness of the tropic seas. There was a puff of wind, followed by a
steady breeze, and the schooner once more sped southward. Robert,
anxious to breathe the invigorating air, came upon deck, and standing
near the mainmast watched the sea rushing by. The captain paused near
him and said to Robert in a satisfied tone:
"It won't be long now, Peter, until we're among the islands, and it may
be, too, that we'll see another ship before long. We've been on a lone
sea all the way down, but you'll find craft among the islands."
"It might be a hostile vessel, a privateer," said Robert.
"It's not privateers of which I'm thinking."
The light was dim, but Robert plainly saw the questing look in his eyes,
the look of a hunter, and he drew back a pace. This man was no mere
smuggler. He would not content himself with such a trade. But he said in
his best manner:
"I should think, captain, it was a time to avoid company, and that you
would be better pleased with a lone sea."
"One never knows what is coming in these waters," said the slaver. "It
may be that we shall have to run away, and I must not be caught off my
guard."
But the look in the man's eyes did not seem to Robert to be that of one
who wished to run away. It was far more the look of the hunter, and when
the hulking mate, Carlos, passed near him his face bore a kindred
expression. The sailors, too, were eager, attentive, watching the
horizon, as if they expected something to appear there.
No attention was paid to Robert, and he remained on the deck, feeling a
strong premonition that they were at the edge of a striking event, one
that had a great bearing upon his own fate, no matter what its character
might be.
The wind rose again, but it did not become a gale. It was merely what a
swift vessel would wish, to show her utmost grace and best speed. The
moon came out and made a silver sea. The long white wake showed clearly
across the waters. The captain never left the deck, but continued to
examine the horizon with his powerful glasses.
Robert, quick to deduce, believed that they were in some part of the sea
frequented by ships in ordinary times and that the captain must be
reckoning on the probability of seeing a vessel in the course of the
night. His whole manner showed it, and the lad's own interest became so
great that he lost all thought of going down to his cabin. Unless force
intervened he would stay there and see what was going to happen, because
he felt in every fiber that something would surely occur.
An hour, two hours passed. The schooner went swiftly on toward the
south, the wind singing merrily through the ropes and among the sails.
The captain walked back and forth in a narrow space, circling the entire
horizon with his glasses at intervals seldom more than five minutes
apart. It was about ten o'clock at night when he made a sharp, decisive
movement, and a look of satisfaction came over his face. He had been
gazing into the west and the lad felt sure that he had seen there that
for which he was seeking, but his own eyes, without artificial help,
were not yet able to tell him what it was.
The captain called the mate, speaking to him briefly and rapidly, and
the sullen face of the Spaniard became alive. An order to the steersman
and the course of the schooner was shifted more toward the west. It was
evident to Robert that they were not running away from whatever it was
out there. The slaver for the first time in a long while took notice of
Robert.
"There's another craft in the west, Peter," he said, "and we must have a
look at her. Curiosity is a good thing at sea, whatever it may be on
shore. When you know what is near you you may be able to protect
yourself from danger."
His cynical, indifferent air had disappeared. He was gay, anticipatory,
as if he were going to something that he liked very much. The close-set
eyes were full of light, and the thin lips curved into a smile.
"You don't seem to expect danger," said Robert. "It appears to me that
you're thinking of just the opposite."
"It's because I've so much confidence in the schooner. If it's a wicked
ship over there we'll just show her the fastest pair of heels in the
West Indies."
He did not speak again for a full quarter of an hour, but he used the
glasses often, always looking at the same spot on the western horizon.
Robert was at last able to see a black dot there with his unassisted
eyes, and he knew that it must be a ship.
"She's going almost due south," said the captain, "and in two hours we
should overhaul her."
"Why do you wish to overhaul her?" asked Robert.
"She may be a privateer, a Frenchman, or even a pirate, and if so we
must give the alarm to other peaceful craft like ourselves in these
waters."
He raised the glasses again and did not take them down for a full five
minutes. Meantime the strange ship came nearer. It was evident to Robert
that the two vessels were going down the sides of a triangle, and if
each continued on its course they would meet at the point.
The night was steadily growing brighter. The moon was at its fullest,
and troops of new stars were coming out. Robert saw almost as well as by
day. He was soon able to distinguish the masts and sails of the
stranger, and to turn what had been a black blur into the shape and
parts of a ship. He was able, too, to tell that the stranger was keeping
steadily on her course, but the schooner, obeying her tiller, was
drawing toward her more and more.
"They don't appear to be interested in us," he said to the captain.
"No," replied the man, "but they should be. They show a lack of that
curiosity which I told you is necessary at sea, and it is my duty to
overtake them and tell them so. We must not have any incautious ships
sailing in these strange waters."
Ten minutes later he called the mate and gave a command. Cutlasses and
muskets with powder and ball were put at convenient points. Every man
carried at least one pistol and a dirk in his belt. The captain himself
took two pistols and a cutlass.
"Merely a wise precaution, Peter," he said, "in case our peaceful
neighbor, to whom we wish to give a useful warning, should turn out to
be a pirate."
Robert in the moonlight saw his eyes gleam and his lips curve once more
into a smile. He had seen enough of men in crucial moments to know that
the slaver was happy, that he was rejoicing in some great triumph that
he expected to achieve. In spite of himself he shivered and looked at
the stranger. The tracery of masts and spars was growing clearer and the
dim figures of men were visible on her decks.
"Oh, we'll meet later," said the captain exultantly. "Don't deceive
yourself about that. There is a swift wind behind us and the speed of
both ships is increasing."
Robert looked over the side. The sea was running in white caps and above
his head the wind was whistling. The schooner rolled and his footing
grew unsteady, but it was only a fine breeze to the sailors, just what
they loved. Suddenly the captain burst into a great laugh.
"The fools! the fools!" he exclaimed. "As I live, they're pleasuring
here in the most dangerous seas in the world! Music in the moonlight!"
"What do you mean?" asked Robert, astonished.
"Just what I say! A madness hath o'ercome 'em! Take a look through the
glasses, Peter, and see a noble sight, but a strange one at such a
time."
He clapped the glasses to Robert's eyes. The other ship, suddenly came
near to them, and grew fourfold in size. Every detail of her stood out
sharp and vivid in the moonlight, a stout craft with all sails set to
catch the good wind, a fine merchantman by every token, nearing the end
of a profitable voyage. Discipline was not to say somewhat relaxed, but
at least kindly, the visible evidence of it an old sailor sitting with
his back against the mast playing vigorously upon a violin, while a
dozen other men stood around listening.
"Look at 'em, Peter. Look at 'em," laughed the captain. "It's a most
noble sight! Watch the old fellow playing the fiddle, and I'll lay my
eyes that in a half minute or so you'll have some of the sailormen
dancing."
Robert shuddered again. The glee in the slaver's voice was wicked. The
cynical jesting tone was gone and in its place was only unholy malice.
But Robert was held by the scene upon the deck of the stranger.
"Yes, two of the sailors have begun to dance," he said. "They're young
men and clasping each other about the shoulders, they're doing a
hornpipe. I can see the others clapping their hands and the old fellow
plays harder than ever."
"Ah, idyllic! Most idyllic, I vow!" exclaimed the captain. "Who would
have thought, Peter, to have beheld such a sight in these seas! 'Tis a
childhood dream come back again! 'Tis like the lads and maids sporting
on the village green! Ah, the lambs! the innocents! There is no war for
them. It does my soul good, Peter, to behold once more such innocent
trust in human nature."
The shudder, more violent than ever, swept over Robert again. He felt
that he was in the presence of something unclean, something that exhaled
the foul odor of the pit. The man had become wholly evil, and he shrank
away.
"Steady, Peter," said the slaver. "Why shouldn't you rejoice with the
happy lads on yon ship? Think of your pleasant fortune to witness such a
play in the West Indian seas, the merry sailormen dancing to the music
in the moonlight, the ship sailing on without care, and we in our
schooner bearing down on 'em to secure our rightful share in the
festival. Ah, Peter, we must go on board, you and I and Carlos and more
stout fellows and sing and dance with 'em!"
Robert drew back again. It may have been partly the effect of the
moonlight, and partly the mirror of his own mind through which he
looked, but the captain's face had become wholly that of a demon. The
close-set eyes seemed to draw closer together than ever, and they were
flashing. His hand, sinewy and strong, settled upon the butt of a pistol
in his belt, but, in a moment, he raised it again and took the glasses
from Robert. After a long look he exclaimed:
"They dream on! They fiddle and dance with their whole souls, Peter, my
lad, and such trusting natures shall be rewarded!"
Robert could see very well now without the aid of the glasses. The
sailor who sat on a coil of rope with his back against a mast, playing
the violin, was an old man, his head bare, his long white hair flying.
It was yet too far away for his face to be disclosed, but Robert knew
that his expression must be rapt, because his attitude showed that his
soul was in his music. The two young sailors, with their arms about the
shoulders of each other, were still dancing, and two more had joined
them.
The crowd of spectators had thickened. Evidently it was a ship with a
numerous crew, perhaps a rich merchantman out of Bristol or Boston. No
flag was flying over her. That, however, was not unusual in those seas,
and in times of war when a man waited to see the colors of his neighbor
before showing his own. But Robert was surprised at the laxity of
discipline on the stranger. They should be up and watching, inquiring
into the nature of the schooner that was drawing so near.
"And now, Peter," said the captain, more exultant than ever, "you shall
see an unveiling! It is not often given to a lad like you, a landsman,
to behold such a dramatic act at sea, a scene so powerful and complete
that it might have been devised by one of the great Elizabethans! Ho,
Carlos, make ready!"
He gave swift commands and the mate repeated them as swiftly to the men.
The two ships were rapidly drawing nearer, but to Robert's amazement the
festival upon the deck of the stranger did not cease. Above the creaking
of the spars the wailing strains of the violin came to him across the
waters. If they were conscious there of the presence of the schooner
they cared little about it. For the moment it occurred to Robert that it
must be the _Flying Dutchman_, or some other old phantom ship out of the
dim and legendary past.
"And now, Carlos!" exclaimed the captain in a full, triumphant voice,
"we'll wake 'em up! Break out the flag and show 'em what we are!"
A coiled piece of cloth, dark and menacing, ran up the mainmast of the
schooner, reached the top, and then burst out, streaming at full length
in the strong wind, dark as death and heavy with threat. Robert looked
up and shuddered violently. Over the schooner floated the black flag,
exultant and merciless.
The tarpaulin was lifted and the long bronze gun in the stern was
uncovered. Beside her stood the gunners, ready for action. The
boatswain's whistle blew and the dark crew stood forth, armed to the
teeth, eager for action, and spoil. Carlos, a heavy cutlass in hand,
awaited his master's orders. The captain laughed aloud.
"So you see, Peter, what we are!" he exclaimed. "And it's not too late
for you to seize a cutlass and have your share. Now, my lads, we'll
board her and take her in the good old way."
The mate shouted to the steersman, and the schooner yawed. Robert,
filled with horror, scarcely knew what he was doing; in truth, he had no
conscious will to do anything, and so he ended by doing nothing. But he
heard the fierce low words of the pirates, and he saw them leaning
forward, as if making ready to leap on the deck of the stranger and cut
down every one of her crew.
Then he looked at the other ship. The old man who had been playing the
violin suddenly dropped it and snatched up a musket from behind the coil
of rope on which he had been sitting. The dancers ceased to dance,
sprang away, and returned in an instant with muskets also. Heavy pistols
leaped from the shirts and blouses of the spectators, and up from the
inside of the ship poured a swarm of men armed to the teeth. A piece of
cloth swiftly climbed the mainmast of the stranger also, reached the
top, broke out there triumphantly, and the flag of England, over against
the black flag, blew out steady and true in the strong breeze.
"God! A sloop of war!" exclaimed the captain. "About, Carlos! Put her
about!"
But the sloop yawed quickly, her portholes opened, bronze muzzles
appeared, tampions fell away, and a tremendous voice shouted:
"Fire!"
Robert saw a sheet of flame spring from the side of the sloop, there was
a terrific crash, a dizzying column of smoke and the schooner seemed
fairly to leap from the water, as the broadside swept her decks and tore
her timbers. The surly mate was cut squarely in two by a round shot, men
screaming in rage and pain went down and the captain staggered, but
recovered himself. Then he shouted to the steersman to put the schooner
about and rushing among the sailors he ordered them to another task than
that of boarding.
"It was a trick, and it trapped us most damnably!" he cried. "A fool I
was! Fools we must all have been to have been caught by it! They lured
us on! But now, you rascals, to your work, and it's for your lives! We
escape together or we hang together!"
The night had darkened much, clouds trailing before the moon and stars,
but Robert clearly saw the slaver's face. It was transformed by chagrin
and wrath, though it expressed fierce energy, too. Blood was running
from his shoulder down his left arm, but drawing his sword he fairly
herded the men to the sails; that is, to those that were left. The
helmsman put the shattered schooner about and she drove rapidly on a new
course. But the sloop of war, tacking, let go her other broadside.
Robert anticipated the second discharge, and by impulse rather than
reason threw himself flat upon the deck, where he heard the heavy shot
whistling over his head and the cries of those who were struck down.
Spars and rigging, too, came clattering to the deck, but the masts stood
and the schooner, though hit hard, still made way.
"Steady! Keep her steady, my boys!" shouted the captain. "We've still a
clean pair of heels, and with a little luck we'll lose the sloop in the
darkness!"
He was a superb seaman and the rising wind helped him. The wounded
schooner had gained so much that the third broadside did but little
damage and killed only one man. Robert stood up again and looked back at
the pursuing vessel, her decks covered with men in uniform, the gunners
loading rapidly while over the sloop the flag of England that was then
the flag of his own country too, streamed straight out in the wind,
proud and defiant.
He felt a throb of intense, overwhelming pride. The black flag had been
overmatched by the good flag. In the last resort, those who lived right
had proved themselves more than equal to those who lived wrong. Law and
order were superior to piracy and chaos. Forgetful of his own safety, he
hoped that the sloop would overtake the schooner, and obeying his
impulse he uttered a shout of triumph. The captain turned upon him
fiercely.
"You cheer the wrong ship," he said. "If they overtake us, you being
with us, I'll swear that you were one of the hardiest men in my crew!"
Robert laughed, he could not help it, though the act was more or less
hysterical, and replied:
"I'll chance it! But, Captain, didn't you have the surprise of your
whole life, and you so cunning, too!"
The man raised his cutlass, but dropped it quickly.
"Don't try me that way again," he said. "It was my impulse to cut you
down, and the next time I'd do it. But you're right. It was a surprise,
though we'll escape 'em yet, and we'll let 'em know we're not just a
hunted rabbit, either!"
The Long Tom in the stern of the schooner opened fire. The first shot
splashed to the right of the sloop, and the second to the left, but the
third struck on board, and two men were seen to go down. The captain
laughed.
"That's a taste of their own medicine," he said.
A big gun on the sloop thundered, and a round shot cut away one of the
schooner's spars. Another flashed and a load of grape hissed over the
decks. Two men were killed and three more wounded. The captain shouted
in anger and made the others crack on all the sail they could. She was a
staunch schooner, and though hurt grievously she still made speed.
Swifter than the sloop, despite her injuries, she gradually widened the
gap between them, while the wind rose fast, and the trailing blackness
spread over the sea.
Although still close at hand, the outline of the pursuing sloop became
dim. Robert was no longer able to trace the human figures on her deck,
but the banner of law and right flying from her topmast yet showed in
the dusk. Forgetful as before of his own danger, he began to have a fear
that the pirate would escape. Under his breath he entreated the avenging
sloop to come on, to sail faster and faster, he begged her gunners to
aim aright despite the darkness, to rake the decks of the schooner with
grape and to send the heavy round shot into her vitals.
The sloop kept up a continuous fire with her bow guns. The heavy reports
crashed through the darkness, the sounds rolling sullenly away, and not
every shot went wild. There was a tearing of sails, a splintering of
spars, a shattering of wood, and now and then the fall of a man. Under
the insistent and continuous urgence of the captain the men on the
schooner replied with the Long Tom in her stern, and, when one of the
shots swept the deck of the sloop, the fierce, dark sailors shouted in
joy. Robert saw with a sinking of the heart that the gap between the two
vessels was still widening, while almost the last star was gone from the
heavens, and it was now so dark that everything was hidden a few hundred
yards away.
"We'll lose her! We'll lose her yet!" cried the captain. "Winds and the
night fight for us. See you, Peter, we must be the chosen children of
fortune, for this can hardly be chance!"
Robert said nothing, because it seemed for the time at least that the
captain's words were true. A sudden and tremendous gust of wind caught
the schooner and drove her on, ragged and smashed though she was, at
increased speed, while the same narrow belt of wind seemed to miss the
sloop. The result was apparent at once. The gap between them became a
gulf. The flag flying so proudly on the topmast of the sloop was gone in
the dusk. Her spars and sails faded away, she showed only a dim, low
hulk on the water from which her guns flashed.
The schooner tacked again. A new bank of blackness poured down over the
sea, and the sloop was gone.
"It was a trap and we sailed straight into it," exclaimed the captain,
"but it couldn't hold us. We've escaped!"
He spoke the truth. They drove steadily on a long time, and saw no more
of the sloop of war.