“Ay, ay, sir; with all our hearts,” said a short, broad, hard-featured man, who said he was first mate of the schooner. “This was a devil of a surprise, sir, and a bold venture,” he added as he looked at the few men belonging to the Vengeance, actively engaged separating the vessels. “What is the name of your schooner, my man?” demanded Lieutenant Thornton. “The Fox privateer, sir; eight guns and sixty men, from Poole—Captain George Goodall.” “How is that?” said our hero, surprised. “Did you strike to this craft?” “No, sir,” said the mate, “that we did not; we’d seed him to the devil first. We struck to the Virginie frigate after beating this here chap, and a small lugger that came up with us off Ushant; but the Virginie coming up, threatened to sink us if we did not strike, so in course we did. And so the captain of the frigate, who was watching the motions of our ships off Brest and Isle Dieu, took our captain and first lieutenant and nineteen of the men on board the Virginie, and then this here chap put us fourteen down below, and sent a prize crew into the schooner with orders to take us into Havre, where the frigate was bound to. The schooner is a mortal fast boat, sir; if you don’t look out you’ll never catch her.” “Do not be alarmed about that, mate,” replied our hero. “We shall have her before two hours are out. Now I must divide our prisoners, for I cannot spare more than half-a-dozen men to take charge of this craft. I will leave five or six of your own men to keep her in our wake, whilst I chase the schooner.” “Ay, ay, sir,” returned the mate; “that we will do, and willingly lend a hand in any way you think fit.”