This was done, Mrs. Budd appearing at the table with great dignity in her manner.  Although she had so naturally supposed that Spike’s attentions had been intended for herself, she was rather mortified than hurt on discovering her mistake.  Her appetite, consequently, was not impaired, though her stomach might have been said to be very full.  The meal passed off without any scene, notwithstanding, and Spike soon re-appeared on deck, still masticating the last mouthful like a man in a hurry, and a good deal a l’ Americaine.  Mulford saw his arrival, and immediately levelled his glass again.

“Well, what news now, sir?” called out the captain.  “You must have a better chance at him by this time, for I can see the chap from off the coach-house here.”

“Ay, ay, sir; he’s a bit nearer, certainly.  I should say that craft is a ship under stun’-sails, looking to the eastward of south, and that there are caps with gold bands on her quarter-deck.”

“How low down can you see her?” demanded Spike, in a voice of thunder.

So emphatic and remarkable was the captain’s manner in putting this question, that the mate cast a look of surprise beneath him ere he answered it.  A look with the glass succeeded, when the reply was given.

“Ay, ay, sir; there can be no mistake—­it’s a cruiser, you may depend on it.  I can see the heads of her topsails now, and they are so square and symmetrical, that gold bands are below beyond all doubt.”

“Perhaps he’s a Frenchman—­Johnny Crapaud keeps cruisers in these seas as well as the rest on’em.”

“Johnny Crapaud’s craft don’t spread such arms, sir.  The ship is either English or American; and he’s heading for the Mona Passage as well as ourselves.”

“Come down, sir, come down—­there’s work to be done as soon as you have breakfasted.”

Mulford did come down, and he was soon seated at the table, with both Josh and Jack Tier for attendants.  The aunt and the niece were in their own cabin, a few yards distant, with the door open.

“What a fuss’e cap’in make ’bout dat sail,” grumbled Josh, who had been in the brig so long that he sometimes took liberties with even Spike himself.  “What good he t’ink t’will do to measure him inch by inch?  Bye’m by he get alongside, and den ’e ladies even can tell all about him.”

“He nat’rally wishes to know who gets alongside,” put in Tier, somewhat apologetically.

“What matter dat.  All sort of folk get alongside of Molly Swash; and what good it do ’em?  Yoh! yoh! yoh!  I do remem’er sich times vid’e ole hussy!”

“What old hussy do you mean?” demanded Jack Tier a little fiercely, and in a way to draw Mulford’s eyes from the profile of Rose’s face to the visages of his two attendants.

“Come, come, gentlemen, if you please; recollect where you are,” interrupted the mate authoritatively.  “You are not now squabbling in your galley, but are in the cabin.  What is it to you, Tier, if Josh does call the brig an old hussy; she is old, as we all know, and years are respectable; and as for her being a `hussy,’ that is a term of endearment sometimes.  I’ve heard the captain himself call the Molly a `hussy,’ fifty times, and he loves her as he does the apple of his eye.”