can't be--and yet it _must_ be too--it surely _is_ the _Vestale_."

"It looks remarkably like her; but I can't make out--confound those
fellows! I wish they would stop firing.--I can't make out the white
ribbon round her sides," said I.

"No, nor can I. And yet it is scarcely possible we can be mistaken.
Luff you may--a little--do not shave her _too_ close. She has no
pennant flying, by the way, whoever she may be. Ah! the rascals have
pinked me after all," as a rattling volley was discharged at him through
the glazed top of the skylight, and I saw him clap his hand to his side.

We were by this time close to the strange brig, on board which lights
were burning in the cabin, whilst several persons were visible on deck.
As we swept down toward her, hugging her pretty closely, a man sprang
into the main rigging and hailed in Spanish:

"_Josefa_ ahoy! What's the matter on board? Why are you going to sea
without a full cargo? Have matters gone wrong at the head of the
creek?"

"No, no," replied Smellie in the same language, which by the way he had
been diligently studying with Antonia's assistance during our sojourn
under Don Manuel's roof--"no, everything is all right; our cargo--"

Unfortunately he was here interrupted by another volley from the cabin,
and at the same time a voice yelled from the schooner's stern windows:

"We are captured; a prize to the accursed Ingleses."

The words were hardly out of the speaker's mouth when three or four
muskets were popped at us from the brig, fortunately without effect. We
were, however, by that time past her, and her crew, who seemed
thoroughly mystified at the whole affair, made no further effort to
molest us. Of one thing, however, we were amply assured, she was not
the _Vestale_. The craft we had just passed--whilst the _double_ of the
French gun-brig in every other respect--was painted black down to her
copper, and she carried under the heel of her bowsprit a life-size
figure of a negress with a scarf striped in various colours round her
waist. _A negress_? Ah! there could not be a doubt of it. "Mr
Smellie," said I, "do you know that craft?"

"N-n-no, I can't say I do, Hawkesley, under her present disguise."

"Disguise, my dear sir; she is not disguised at all. That is the
pirate-brig which destroyed poor Richards' vessel--the _Juliet_. And--
yes--there can scarcely be a doubt about it--she must be the notorious
_Black Venus_ of which the Yankee skippe