When night had fallen the captain made out a sail to windward.
Immediately every inch of canvas was close furled, every light carefully
extinguished, a hundred and twenty men with cutlasses at quarters, and
the ship under bare poles. The strange sail could be seen through the
night-glasses; she now burned a blue light--without doubt an old
fellow-cruiser of ours, the Spark.

"She is from Santa Martha with a freight of specie, I know," said
Williamson. "I will try a brush with her."

"I know the craft," Splinter struck in, "a heavy vessel of her class,
and you may depend on hard knocks and small profit if you do take her;
while, if she takes you----"

"I'll be hanged if she does," said Williamson, and he grinned at the
conceit; "or, rather, I will blow the schooner up with my own hand
before I strike; better that than have one's bones bleached in chains on
a quay at Port Royal. But you cannot control us, gentlemen; so get down
below, and take Peter Mangrove with you. I would not willingly see those
come to harm who have trusted me."

However, there was no shot flying as yet, and we stayed on deck. All
sail was once more made, and presently the cutter saw us, tacked, and
stood towards us. Her commander hailed: "Ho, the brigantine, ahoy! What
schooner is that?"

"Spanish schooner, Caridad," sung out Williamson.

"Heave-to, and send your boat on board."