She was a long three-masted schooner, with
tall raking masts, lying very low in the water. All her canvas was
set; and as a little wind had sprung up, she was slipping through
the water at a fair pace.
"She looks for all the world like a slaver, sir," remarked Mr.
Brabazon, the first lieutenant, to the commander.
Neville said nothing, but his lips were firmly compressed, and a
gleam of excitement was in his eyes.
"Fire a blank cartridge, Mr. O'Riley," said he to the second
lieutenant; "and signal her to ask her nationality and her code
number."
This was done; and in answer to the signal the schooner slowly
hoisted the American colours.
"She has eased away her sheets, and luffed a point or two, sir,"
said the quartermaster, touching his cap.
The captain merely answered this by a nod.
"Put a shot in your gun, Mr. O'Riley," said he. "Lower your hoist
and make a fresh hoist demanding her name."
This was done, but the American took no notice.
"Fire a shot, Mr. O'Riley--wide, of course," said the commander.
Again the deafening report of the big gun sounded in our ears; and
we could see the splash of the shot as it struck the water about
fifty yards from the schooner.
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