“What is she?”

“An English frigate.”

“I knew it!” growled the captain.  “I felt it in my bones.  We shall have the rascals overhauling us anon.  Egad, I wish we had an armed crew and heavy guns—­I would not wait for congress to declare war.”

“But captain, while this dead calm lasts, she cannot move more than ourselves.”

“Very true, Mr. Brown, but, egad, she will catch the breeze first, and come up with it.  Thank heaven we have no man aboard our ship born out of the United States.  They cannot impress any for Englishmen.”

The mate answered: 

“They care little whether we are English or American born; if they are short of hands, they will take such of our crews as they want.”

The captain paced the deck uneasily, occasionally muttering: 

“Zounds, don’t I wish I had a few heavy guns.”

There was but one small brass piece aboard, and it was only a six pounder, unable to render much service.  His country was nominally at peace with Great Britain; but that did not prevent honest merchantmen suffering at the hands of the British cruisers.

The afternoon wore away and the sun had set before there was breeze enough to fill a sail.  Just as the vessel began to glide slowly away from the small island not more than two miles distant, the mate, who had ascended to the lookout’s position cried: 

“Boat, ho!”

“Where away?”

“To leeward, heading direct for us.”

The captain seized his glass and turned it toward the island.  The sombre shades of twilight had already gathered over the scene; but he saw through them quite distinctly a boat pulled by four men, while a fifth sat in the stern holding the tiller.  The steersman kept the small island between them and the vessel Captain Parson had discovered.

As the breeze grew stiffer and the Dover began to fill away, the mate, who had never taken his glass off the approaching boat, suddenly cried: 

“Captain Parson, they are signalling us to heave to!”

“So they are, by zounds!” the puzzled captain exclaimed.

“What will you do?”

After a moment’s hesitation, the captain said: 

“Heave to, by Jove, and see what they want!”

The order was given, and the vessel rocked idly on the waves, while the boat drew rapidly nearer.  At last it was near enough for them to make out the five men dressed in the uniform of British marines.

“Brown, I don’t like this.  Those fellows are from his majesty’s frigate, there is no doubt, and they mean us trouble.”

“Wait and see, captain,” the mate answered, coming down to the deck.  “There are but five of them, and, so far as I can see, all are unarmed.”  The deck by this time was crowded with the crew, all waiting in anxious expectation and dread.

“It am de press gang!” said the cook, who was a negro black as the ace of spades named Job.  “Dey am comin’ to take off everybody dat looks like a Britisher.  Golly! do I look like a Britisher?”