Her commander was justifiably certain of the success of his plans. He stood upon the quarter-deck, trumpet in hand. His gallant tars, with pikes and cutlasses ready, but no firearms, the report of which might be heard by the French on shore, were drawn up in line, waiting for the order, so soon to come, to board the _Noank_. Splendid men they were, and the sleeping Americans were to be overcome in the twinkling of an eye. Four boats were at the sides of the corvette, and into these went down the expectant boarders, for the crisis was at hand. No orders were required and the oars dipped rapidly, in perfect unison. The affair would soon be over. The commander on the corvette's deck was listening for the shout of onset and of sudden victory. "Hullo!" suddenly exclaimed the lieutenant in the bow of the foremost boat. "Here we are! Where's that schooner?" "She's gone, sir!" came loudly from one of the sailors. "Gone entirely!" All the silence was gone also, as the boats dashed on to row uselessly over the patch of water where the _Noank_ had been seen at sunset. Orders and exclamations might be uttered noisily now. The _Syren's_ captain could hear, and he could understand, but for some reason he did not seem inclined to make remarks. Most likely he was thinking, for the first words from his lips were:-- "Lieutenant, recall the boats. All hands make sail! We must follow that privateer. I'm afraid he has two hours the start of us." "I'm afraid he's away," growled the lieutenant. "I'd like to know who gave him his warning." "Nonsense!" exclaimed the captain. "He's after that Belfast liner. We must follow in her wake, or she'll go to America instead of to Ireland." An old, experienced sea-campaigner can sometimes make shrewd calculations. Not a great while after that and just as the day was dawning, a bulky three-master, running along in a steady, businesslike manner, appeared to be almost in danger of being run into by a much smaller craft which had been following her. The pursuer's flag was English, and she showed no guns. "Schooner ahoy, there!" shouted a voice on the three-master. "Sheer away, there, or you'll strike us. Port your helm! Port, I say!" No direct answer came back, but he heard a hoarse-toned shout of:-- "All hands shorten sail! Throw that grappling! Throw the other! Haul in! Haul taut! Bring us alongside! Hurrah! We have her! Board!" So skilfully was it done that there was no great or damaging shock when the two vessels came together. The grapplings held, the American sailors pulled mightily, and before the liner's crew who were below could tumble up to join their comrades on deck there were fifty pikemen swarming over her bulwarks. "We surrender!" was almost the first loud exclamation of the British skipper. "You're that rebel pirate! Why didn't the _Syren_ catch you!" "We weren't there to be caught," called back Captain Avery. "The _Killarney_ is ours, Captain Syme!"