The Manhattan came at once for the telescope, but a sudden change had come over the manners of Coco. It began with a curious kind of sniffing, sniffing, like a pointer dog in the neighborhood of game. Then he left his precious gun and glided to the rail, shaking his head and chattering harsh words in a tongue which nobody who heard could recognize. Guert went over to join him, and his first glance at the face of the old African astonished him. It was absolutely convulsed with fury. The black man's hands were clenched, his teeth were grinding, and his eyes seemed to flash fire. "What's the matter?" asked Guert. "Can you see anything out there?" An angry screech, and then a guttural, wrathful war-cry, sprung from the lips of Coco. At that moment Up-na-tan had been looking at the strange sail through the telescope. "Brig," he had said. "All sail set. Big as the _Santa Teresa_. No cruiser. No Englishman ever set a foresail like that." His implied compliment to the neatness of British seamanship was cut short by the yell of Coco, and he instantly lowered his glass. "Whoo-oop!" he responded. "'Peak out! What Coco find?" "Slaver!" screeched the African. "Coco smell him! Where Up-na-tan lose he nose?" "Slaver?" exclaimed Captain Avery. "Bless my soul! We've nothing to do with men-stealers. I don't want any such prize as that, even if it's an Englishman. I wouldn't take a slave cargo into port." "Nor I, either," said the steersman. "We're not in that trade." Nearer and nearer, now, the strange craft was drawing, from the opposite tack. The men below had heard the yell of Coco and the Manhattan's warwhoop, and were tumbling up on deck in search of information. Their comments were various as they heard the remarkable announcement. "Not a doubt of it, Lyme," said Sam Prentice to the captain, after a whiff of the wind from the stranger. "They're slave thieves. I always heard tell that a slave-ship could smell worse'n anything else. I say we ought not to try to do anything with her. Let her go!" "Of course we will," said the captain; "but we'll speak her. Here she comes." In a few minutes more the two ships were within hailing distance. "What brig's that?" asked Avery. "Slaver _Yara_, Captain Liscomb. Congo River to Cuba," came back with all cheerfulness. "What schooner's that?" "American privateer, _Noank_, Captain Avery. We don't want you. How many on board?" "We've only lost about a third of 'em on the passage," came jauntily back from the _Yara_. "We shall land over two hundred good ones. First-rate luck! Last trip we lost more'n half by getting stuck in a calm. How's your luck? Are you taking anything worth while?" It was precisely as if a prosperous merchant, engaged in what he considered an honorable, legitimate business, were exchanging trade politeness with another merchant in a somewhat similar line.