“Shake the reef out of the mainsail, Mr. Mulford,” said Spike, when the Swash was fairly in motion again on this advantageous tack.  “We shall pass well to windward of the steamer, and may as well begin to open our cloth again.”

“Is it not a little too soon, sir?” Mulford ventured to remonstrate; “the reef is a large one, and will make a great difference in the size of the sail.”

“They’ll not see it at this distance.  No, no, sir, shake out the reef, and sway away on the topgallant-mast rope; I’m for bringing the Molly Swash into her old shape again, and make her look handsome once more.”

“Do you dress the brig, as well as undress her, o’mights; Captain Spike?” inquired the ship-master’s reliet, a little puzzled with this fickleness of purpose.  “I do not believe my poor Mr. Budd ever did that.”

“Fashions change, madam, with the times—­ay, ay, sir—­shake out the reef, and sway away on that mast-rope, boys, as soon as you have manned it.  We’ll convart our schooner into a brig again.”

As these orders were obeyed, of course, a general bustle now took place.  Mulford soon had the reef out, and the sail distended to the utmost, while the topgallant-mast was soon up and fidded.  The next thing was to sway upon the fore-yard, and get that into its place.  The people were busied at this duty, when a hoarse hail came across the water on the heavy night air.

“Brig ahoy!” was the call.

“Sway upon that fore-yard,” said Spike, unmoved by this summons—­“start it, start it at once.”

“The steamer hails us, sir,” said the mate.

“Not she.  She is hailing a brig; we are a schooner yet.”

A moment of active exertion succeeded, during which the fore-yard went into its place.  Then came a second hail.

“Schooner, ahoy!” was the summons this time.

“The steamer hails us again, Captain Spike.”

“The devil a bit.  We’re a brig now, and she hails a schooner.  Come boys, bestir yourselves, and get the canvas on Molly for’ard.  Loose the fore-course before you quit the yard there, then up aloft and loosen everything you can find.”

All was done as ordered, and done rapidly, as is ever the case on board a well-ordered vessel when there is occasion for exertion.  That occasion now appeared to exist in earnest, for while the men were sheeting home the topsail, a flash of light illuminated the scene, when the roar of a gun came booming across the water, succeeded by the very distinct whistling of its shot.  We regret that the relict of the late Captain Budd did not behave exactly as became a shipmaster’s widow, under fire.  Instead of remaining silent and passive, even while frightened, as was the case with Rose, she screamed quite as loud as she had previously done that very day in Hell-Gate.  It appeared to Spike, indeed, that practice was making her perfect; and, as for Biddy, the spirit of emulation became so powerful in her bosom, that, if anything, she actually outshrieked her mistress.  Hearing this, the widow made a second effort, and fairly recovered the ground some might have fancied she had lost.