“They have taken nothing as yet, Mr. Mulford, and, to tell you the truth, I’d much rather fall in with one of Don Montezuma’s craft than one of Uncle Sam’s.”

“That is a singular taste, for an American, Captain Spike, unless you think, now our guns are mounted, we can handle a Mexican,” returned Mulford coldly.  “At all events, it is some answer to those who ask `What is the navy about?’ that months of war have gone by, and not an American has been captured.  Take away that navy, and the insurance offices in Wall-street would tumble like a New York party-wall in a fire.”

“Nevertheless, I’d rather take my chance, just now, with Don Montezuma than with Uncle Sam.”

Mulford did not reply, though the earnest manner in which Spike expressed himself, helped to increase his distrust touching the nature of the voyage.  With him the captain had no further conference, but it was different as respects the boatswain.  That worthy was called aft, and for half an hour he and Spike were conversing apart, keeping their eyes fastened on the strange vessel most of the time.

It was noon before all uncertainly touching the character of the stranger ceased.  By that time, however, both vessels were entering the Mona Passage; the brig well to windward, on the Porto Rico side; while the ship was so far to leeward as to be compelled to keep everything close-hauled, in order to weather the island.  The hull of the last could now be seen, and no doubt was entertained about her being a cruiser, and one of some size, too.  Spike thought she was a frigate; but Mulford still inclined to the opinion that she was one of the new ships; perhaps a real corvette, or with a light spar-deck over her batteries.  Two or three of the new vessels were known to be thus fitted, and this might be one.  At length all doubt on the subject ceased, the stranger setting an American ensign, and getting so near as to make it apparent that she had but a single line of guns.  Still she was a large ship, and the manner that she ploughed through the brine, close-hauled as she was, extorted admiration even from Spike.

“We had better begin to shorten sail, Mr. Mulford,” the captain at length most reluctantly remarked.  “We might give the chap the slip, perhaps, by keeping close in under Porto Rico, but he would give us a long chase, and might drive us away to windward, when I wish to keep off between Cuba and Jamaica.  He’s a traveller; look, how he stands up to it under that could of canvas!”

Mulford was slow to commence on the studding-sails, and the cruiser was getting nearer and nearer.  At length a gun was fired, and a heavy shot fell about two hundred yards short of the brig, and a little out of line with her.  On this hint, Spike turned the hands up, and began to shorten sail.  In ten minutes the Swash was under her topsail, mainsail and jib, with her light sails hanging in the gear, and all the steering canvas in.  In ten minutes