I hurried upon deck, and a glance confirmed Dominique’s announcement. The stranger was a large topsail-schooner, with raking masts, a long black hull, and Spanish ensign floating from her gaff-end. Her sailing properties were admirable; and her whole appearance told that she was neither adapted for, nor employed in peaceful commerce. When she rounded to under our stern, I counted nine ports aside--a huge pivot gun was on a traverse between her masts, and her decks seemed full of men. She could not be mistaken for a moment; she was a rover, a slaver, or a privateer, and, probably, all by turns. An old adage * says, that a traveller already disencumbered of his property, feels little uneasiness in presence of a highwayman; and certainly, to me the appearance of this rakish schooner was a matter of perfect indifference. I saw her back her topsail, and take a position that placed us “end-on,” under the fire of her starboard guns. Immediately a boat was lowered, and twenty men pulled from her side and boarded us. This second visitation, and within eight-and-forty hours, caused but little sensation in the ship. All that was valuable was already gone; and the new comers must be men of uncommon industry and research, if they could discover much that was worth removal. Indeed, the style in which the Frenchman had cleared every thing away worth notice, could never be surpassed, and proved that in sea robbery his crew had attained perfection. * Cantabit vacuus coram latroae viator. Sad was their disappointment, when our new captors found that they had fallen in with a mere bone from which the marrow had been carefully extracted. Still, however, there were some necessaries that might prove useful; and sails, cordage, water and provisions, were unceremoniously conveyed on board the schooner. Presently, a second boat pushed off from the rover’s side; and it was notified that the captain, in person, was coming on board to ascertain how a prize so promising should prove so very unproductive. “What a cursed misfortune,” said he, in reply to the account his first officer gave him of our hwing been thoroughly plundered, and that only twenty hours before. “By Heven, I am half inclined to make sail after the privateer, and make him divide or disgorge the booty.” “‘Twere idle,” said the lieutenant; “Heven knows what course he’s steering. And even if we overtook him, what certainty have we that he would not be able to hold his own with us? They say he carried twenty guns, and was chokeful of men. He’ll dodge the convoy while he dare, and trust to accident for a second God-send. No, no--it was a cursed chance, no doubt--the luck was all John Crapo’s--and no use crying over spilt milk, you know.”