paulets on his shoulders mounted the
poop ladder, touched his hat, and waved his hand toward the brig. A
moment after--

"Brig ahoy!" came in a sharp, clear, manly tone through the trumpet.

"Sir?"

"What brig is that?"

"The 'Martha Blunt!' named after my dear old wife, God bless her! and
myself, Jacob Blunt, God bless me!" added the jolly skipper, in a sotto
voce chuckle to the fair passenger who stood beside him.

"Where are you from, and where bound?" came again through the trumpet.

"Bordeaux, and bound to Kingston. We have a free passport from Sir
Robert Calder and Admiral Villeneuve."

There was a wave of the trumpet as the speaker finished hailing, and
then touching his hat to the officer with the gold swabs, and pausing
only a moment, he moved to the other side of the corvette's poop.

"It would be no more nor polite in him to tell us what his name is,
arter all the questions he's axed."

"Don't ye know, Mr. Binks," broke in the captain, "that the dignity of a
man-of-war is sich that it wouldn't be discreet to tell no more than
that she has a cargo of cannon balls, and going on a cruise any wheres?
which ye may believe is as much valuable information as we might get out
of our own calabashes without asking a question."

"You are allers right, Captain Blunt, but I did not tax my mind to think
when I spoke them remarks," said Binks, deferentially.

The cruiser, however, seemed more communicative than the mate gave her
credit for, and a moment after the officer with the trumpet sang out,

"This is the United States ship 'Scourge,' from Port Royal, bound on a
cruise! Please report us."

And again, after a few words apparently with the officer with the
epaulets, the trumpet was raised to his lips, and he asked, "Have you
seen any vessels lately?"

The skipper was on the point of answering the hail, when his mate said,
"Beg pardon, Captain Blunt, but Ben and me made out a fore-and-aft
schooner airly this morning, with sweeps out, pulling in under the
outermost headland there," pointing with his horny finger as he spoke.

"Nothing, sir, but a small schooner at daylight sweeping to windward."

"What?" came back in a clear, quick note from the corvette.

"Small fore-and-after, sir, with sails down and sweeps out, close under
the land."

In a moment two or three officers on the cruiser's deck put their heads
together, several glasses were directed toward the now dim mirage-like
shadow of the island,