They stood together, I dare say, about ten minutes talking. In this time the sail had grown, and was visibly a topsail schooner, low in the water, of a clean, black, slaver-like run. The sun flashed in flame from her wet sides, and I thought at first she was firing at us. Meehan, I think it was, sung out: “Better see all ready, mates!” and went to the boat, he and others. Bol alone stayed, looking at the schooner. He then came to me. “Mr. Fielding, I shall vant to command for a leedle vhile. Me himself vhas skipper till our peesiness vhas done.” “What do you mean to do?” said I. “To shtop dot leedle hooker. I shall vant to hail her. Of course, Mr. Fielding, you vhas der captain all der same; but you hov a soft heart, and so I vhas der skipper in dis shob.” “I don’t understand you.” “It vhas like opening your eyes in a minute. You vhas not to interfere, dot vhas all.” He went to the flag-locker, took out the English ensign, and ran it aloft, union down, at the trysail gaff-end. “Back der main topsail, some hands!” he bawled. All hands were on deck. Hals came out of the caboose to look on or to help. Some of the men laid the canvas on the main a-back, and others unshipped the little gangway preparatory to launching the boat, smack-fashion, through it; and among those who hove the little boat out of the bigger one, and ran her to the side, were the two Spaniards. Meanwhile, the schooner had hoisted English colors. They blew out from her main topmast head. The telescope gave me the character of the bunting. To the naked eye it waved and trembled like a red light against the pearly crust which covered the sky that way. I guessed by her showing her color that she was going to halt when she came abreast. What did my crew mean to do? What scheme had the beggars suddenly hit on and were going about with an unanimity that held them all as quiet as the backed topsail aloft? It was about now that Miss Aurora came on deck. She looked up at the sails of the brig, at the flag flying at our trysail gaff-end, at the approaching schooner, the open gangway, the boat lying in it, the men hanging about the little fabric. “Holy Mother!” cried she, and in a step or two she was at my side. “What is it? What is wrong? What is happening?” Bol, who stood with others near the boat, hearing her turned. The huge man approached and was calling out before I could answer the girl. “Mr. Fielding, der lady must go below.” “Must!” “Yaw, by Cott! I vhas skipper for dis leedle while. You vhas not to be seen, marm. Dot vhas so I play no bart mit you on deck.” He came to the companion way, and with a face full of blood and temper, pointed down the ladder, exclaiming in his deepest thunder, “Quick, if you please. Doan’ be afraid. It vhas all right. No von vhas hurt over dis shob.” “Go,” said I, “do as he bids you. See how those fellows are watching us.”