On this bright June morning a sail was descried S.S.E., and there immediately sprang up a little conversation between master and mate as to the probable character of the ship.

“Perchance, captain, it’s a British cruiser,” suggested the mate.

“If it should be, we have no fears.”

“No, for the Ocean Star can show a pair of clean heels to anything afloat.  These British have a habit of searching all vessels they can capture and impressing seamen.”

“It’s ugly business.”

“It will breed another storm.”

“I don’t think America will long submit.”

At this, the mate, whose temper was as fiery as his red hair, vowed: 

“If they should board a ship of mine, I would give ’em lead and steel, until they would not care to search or impress any one.”

“They have no such right,” the captain answered, and his face grew very stern.

The vessel, whatever she was, did not cross their path, however, and in a few hours disappeared around some jutting headlands.

They had only left Rio the day before, and had very light winds.  The land breeze lasted long enough to bring them by Santa Cruz, and their ship drifted along all day between Raza and the main.  Toward night the sea-breeze came in fresh from the eastward, and they made four-hour tacks, intending to keep the northern shore quite close aboard, and to take their departure from Cape Frio.  The night was very clear, and at eight bells they tacked ship to the northward, heading about N.N.E.; Raza lights could just be discerned, bearing about West.  Captain Lane had come on deck, as was his custom, to “stay” the brig, and, finding everything looking right, was about to go below, when the man on the lookout cried: 

“Sail ho!”

“Where away?” demanded the Captain.

“Two points off the lee bow.”

The captain walked forward to the forecastle, from where he descried what appeared to be a large square-rigged vessel standing directly for them, with her port-tacks aboard.  This seemed strange to the captain, as he knew of no vessel which had left Rio, except one several days previous, and she should have been far on her voyage by this time.

The stranger approached very rapidly, carrying a press of canvas, and “lying over” to it in fine style.  In a short time the stranger was almost within speaking distance, and Captain Lane made her out to be a large heavily-sparred clipper brig.  A collision seemed inevitable, if she held her course.  The Ocean Star was a little to windward of the stranger with the starboard tacks aboard, and Captain Lane knew it was the stranger’s duty to “bear up” and keep away.  He jumped for his speaking trumpet and hailed: 

“Brig ahoy!”

No answer; and the mysterious vessel came booming right on for them with fearful speed.

“Brig ahoy!” shouted the captain again.  “Hard up your helm, or you will be into me!”