then went to my cabin, where, with a chart of
the Atlantic spread open before us upon the cabin table, Jack Keene and
I discussed the knotty question of the course that should be steered to
enable us once more to bring the _Virginia_ within the range of our own
horizon.

The point that we had to consider was whether our Yankee friend would or
would not anticipate pursuit. If he did, he would probably resort to
some expedient to dodge us; but if he did not there was little doubt
that he would make the best of his way to his port of destination,
which, if he spoke the truth, was the Congo. Now, we were well within
the limits of the north-east trade-winds, the wind at the moment
blowing, as nearly as might be, due north-east, and piping up strong
enough to make us think twice before setting our topgallantsail; it was
therefore perfectly ideal weather for so powerful a craft as the
_Virginia_, which might dare not only to show all three of her
topgallantsails but also, perhaps, her main-royal. We therefore
ultimately came to the conclusion that, the weather being what it was,
our friend the Yankee would shape a straight course for Cape Palmas,
with the intention of then availing himself of the alternate sea and
land-breezes to slip along the coast as far as the Congo--that being the
plan very largely followed by slavers on the eastward passage--and that
he would only be likely to deviate from that plan in the event of his
actually discovering that he was pursued. Consequently we determined to
do the same; and I issued the necessary orders to that effect. We were
not very long in getting our preventers rigged, after which we not only
set our royal and flying-jib, but also shifted our gaff-topsail, hauling
down Number 3, a jib-headed affair, and setting Number 2 in its place, a
sail nearly twice as big as the other, with its lofty, tapering head
laced to a yard very nearly as long as the topmast. Then, with her lee
rail awash--and, in fact, dipping deeply sometimes, on a lee roll--and
the lee scuppers breast-deep in water, the _Dolphin_ began to show us
what she really could do in the matter of sailing when called upon;
reeling off a steady eleven knots, hour after hour, upon a taut bowline;
the smother of froth under her bows boiling up at times to the level of
her lee cat-head, and her foresail wet with spray to the height of its
reef-band. It was grand sailing, exhilarating as a draught of wine,
maddening in the fe