“Aunt, may I say a word to you before you go any further,” put in Rose in her quiet but very controlling way.

The aunt complied, and Wallace, as soon as left alone, felt like a man who was released from a quick-sand, into which every effort to extricate himself only plunged him so much the deeper.  At this moment the ship hailed, and the lieutenant took a hasty leave of Spike, motioned to the midshipman to precede him, and followed the latter into his boat.  Spike saw his visiter off in person, tending the side and offering the man-ropes with his own hands.  For this civility Wallace thanked him, calling out as his boat pulled him from the brig’s side—­“If we `pull away,’” accenting the “pull” in secret derision of the relict’s mistake, “you can pull away; our filling the topsail being a sign for you to do the same.”

“There you go, and joy go with you,” muttered Spike, as he descended from the gangway.  “A pretty kettle of fish would there have been cooked had I let him have his two barrels of flour.”

The man-of-war’s cutter was soon under the lee of the ship, where it discharged its freight, when it was immediately run up.  During the whole time Wallace had been absent, Captain Mull and his officers remained on the poop, principally occupied in examining and discussing the merits of the Swash.  No sooner had their officer returned, however, than an order was given to fill away, it being supposed that the Poughkeepsie had no further concern with the brigantine.  As for Wallace, he ascended to the poop and made the customary report.

“It’s a queer cargo to be carrying to Key West from the Atlantic coast,” observed the captain in a deliberating sort of manner, as if the circumstance excited suspicion; “Yet the Mexicans can hardly be in want of any such supplies.”

“Did you see the flour, Wallace?” inquired the first lieutenant, who was well aware of his messmate’s indolence.

“Yes, sir, and felt it too.  The lower hold of the brig is full of flour, and of nothing else.”

“Ware round, sir—­ware round and pass athwart the brig’s wake,” interrupted the captain.  “There’s plenty of room now, and I wish to pass as near that craft as we can.”

This manoeuvre was executed.  The sloop-of-war no sooner filled her maintop-sail than she drew ahead, leaving plenty of room for the brigantine to make sail on her course.  Spike did not profit by this opening, however, but he sent several men aloft forward, where they appeared to be getting ready to send down the upper yards and the topgallant-mast.  No sooner was the sloop-of-war’s helm put up than that vessel passed close along the brigantine’s weather side, and kept off across her stern on her course.  As she did this the canvas was fluttering aboard her, in the process of making sail, and Mull held a short discourse with Spike.

“Is anything the matter aloft?” demanded the man-of-war’s man.

“Ay, ay; I’ve sprung my topgallant-mast, and think this a good occasion to get another up in its place.”