ebber kill you while one Krouman alive."

The negro then gently pushed Francisco back with his hand, as if not
wishing to hear his answer, and hastened forward on the berth deck.

CHAPTER EIGHT.

THE ATTACK.

In the meantime, the sea-breeze had risen in the offing, and was
sweeping along the surface to where the schooner was at anchor. The
captain ordered a man to the cross-trees, directing him to keep a good
look-out, while he walked the deck in company with his first mate.

"She may not have sailed until a day or two later," said the captain,
continuing the conversation; "I have made allowance for that, and,
depend upon it, as she makes the eastern passage, we must soon fall in
with her; if she does not heave in sight this evening, by daylight I
shall stretch out in the offing; I know the Portuguese well. The
sea-breeze has caught our craft: let them run up the inner jib, and see
that she does not foul her anchor."

It was now late in the afternoon, and dinner had been sent into the
cabin; the captain descended, and took his seat at the table with
Francisco, who ate in silence. Once or twice the captain, whose wrath
had subsided, and whose kindly feelings towards Francisco, checked for a
time, had returned with greater force, tried, but in vain, to rally him
to conversation, when "_Sail ho_!" was shouted from the mast-head.

"There she is, by God!" cried the captain, jumping from, and then, as if
checking himself, immediately resuming, his seat.

Francisco put his hand to his forehead, covering his eyes as his elbow
leant upon the table.

"A large ship, sir; we can see down to the second reef of her topsails,"
said Hawkhurst, looking down the skylight.

The captain hastily swallowed some wine from a flagon, cast a look of
scorn and anger upon Francisco, and rushed on deck.

"Be smart, lads!" cried the captain, after a few seconds' survey of the
vessel through his glass; "that's her: furl the awnings, and run the
anchor up to the bows: there's more silver in that vessel, my lads, than
your chests will hold: and the good saints of the churches at Goa will
have to wait a little longer for their gold candlesticks."

The crew were immediately on the alert; the awnings were furled, and all
the men, stretching aft the spring cable, walked the anchor up to the
bows. In two minutes more the _Avenger_ was standing out on the
starboard tack, shaping her course so as to cut off the ill-fated
vessel. The bre