“Then I can catch these boats,” whispers the captain. With this the nature of the man comes suddenly out; his wonderful rapidity of thought and action. He cries: “Order all hands to stand by to wear ship. Send twenty men aft to handle the lateen sail! See the two anchors stoppered at thirty fathoms! Tell the starboard division to arm themselves with pikes, cutlasses and axes—only steel. I want no noise about this business! Order three men to stand on the weather bow with grappling hooks.” A minute later he sees the flashes of firearms a cable’s length ahead broad upon his larboard bow. “Helm a starboard!” he cries to the men at the tiller. “That’s enough; steer small, I tell you. Set the spanker!” A minute after they are just passing the boats, and nicely calculating for the drift, which is tremendous, he suddenly wears his ship, giving his orders by speaking trumpet. “Hard a starboard—slack away the lee braces. Haul taut the weather fore and main braces!” And as soon as the vessel comes round bracing his fore yards very sharply and jibbing his lateen sail, which, though nearly blown from its bolt ropes, drives the vessel hurriedly into the slack water formed by the current of the East Schelde meeting that rushing in by the main estuary. The next minute he has ranged up alongside two boats, and his starboard division, taking tow lines in their hands, have sprung into the boats, boarding them and capturing them. These are soon swinging alongside of his lee quarter, protected from the sea and the wind, while he is dropping anchor in the slack water formed by the South Beveland flats and marshes. There has apparently been no contest in the boats, as his men have taken their occupants too much by surprise. A minute later the boatswain clambers back on board the Dover Lass and reports: “We’ve got ’em both!” “What are they?” “One’s an enemy and one’s a friend.” “Who’s the friend?” “Dirk Duyvel and his band of Sea Beggars; and Dirk’s thunderin’ mad and swears he is being badly treated.” “Who’s the enemy?” “A Spanish pleasure galley or State barge, judgin’ by the fol-de-rols and awnings.” “Who are on board her?” “Rowers, who are begging for their lives, and two or three women, all of ’em fainted but one. There was an Italian, Spaniard or something, but Duyvel and his band when they captured the boat tied a rope round him, threw him overboard and towed him, and I guess he’s drowned by this time.” “Very well, pull the Italian up and bring him on board. Also send Dirk to me.” A minute later a stalwart-looking Dutch sea-dog comes over the side, stamping his heavy boots and uttering a curse with every stamp. “Come here, Dirk, what are you growling about?” laughs the young captain. “What am I growling about? Donder en Bliksem! I’m growling about YOU! What have you come between me and my prize for? Who are you, anyway?” “You don’t recognize me, Dirk? Come this way.”