“Shall I lend you a carpenter or two, Mr. Spike?”

“Thank’ee, sir, thank’ee with all my heart; but we can do without them.  It’s an old stick, and it’s high time a better stood where it does.  Who knows but I may be chased and feel the want of reliable spars.”

Captain Mull smiled and raised his cap in the way of an adieu, when the conversation ended; the Poughkeepsie sliding off rapidly with a free wind, leaving the Swash nearly stationary.  In ten minutes the two vessels were more than a mile apart; in twenty, beyond the reach of shot.

Notwithstanding the natural and common-place manner in which this separation took place, there was much distrust on board each vessel, and a good deal of consummate management on the part of Spike.  The latter knew that every foot the sloop-of-war went on her course, carried her just so far to leeward, placing his own brig, in-so-much, dead to windward of her.  As the Swash’s best point of sailing, relatively considered, was close-hauled, this was giving to Spike a great security against any change of purpose on the part of the vessel of war.  Although his people were aloft and actually sent down the topgallant-mast, it was only to send it up again, the spar being of admirable toughness, and as sound as the day it was cut.

“I don’t think, Mr. Mulford,” said the captain sarcastically, “that Uncle Sam’s glasses are good enough to tell the difference in wood at two leagues’ distance, so we’ll trust to the old stick a little longer.  Ay, ay, let ’em run off before it, we’ll find another road by which to reach our port.”

“The sloop-of-war is going round the south side of Cuba, Captain Spike,” answered the mate, “and I have understood you to say that you intended to go by the same passage.”

“A body may change his mind, and no murder.  Only consider, Harry, how common it is for folks to change their minds.  I did intend to pass between Cuba and Jamaica, but I intend it no longer.  Our run from Montauk has been oncommon short, and I’ve time enough to spare to go to the southward of Jamaica too, if the notion takes me.”

“That would greatly prolong the passage, Captain Spike,—­a week at least.”

“What if it does—­I’ve a week to spare; we’re nine days afore our time.”

“Our time for what, sir?  Is there any particular time set for a vessel’s going into Key West?”

“Don’t be womanish and over-cur’ous, Mulford.  I sail with sealed orders, and when we get well to windward of Jamaica, ’t will be time enough to open them.”

Spike was as good as his word.  As soon as he thought the sloop-of-war was far enough to leeward, or when she was hull down, he filled away and made sail on the wind to get nearer to Porto Rico.  Long ere it was dark he had lost sight of the sloop-of-war, when he altered his course to south-westerly, which was carrying him in the direction he named, or to windward of Jamaica.