The master smiled, like one who knew more than he expressed, and gravely shook his head. “We may have many pulls on our bowlines, and some squaring of yards, too, before the Coquette (the figure-head of the sloop-of-war was also a female) gets near enough to the dark-faced woman, under the bowsprit of the brigantine, to whisper her mind. You and I have been nigh enough to see the white of her eyes, and to count the teeth she shows, in that cunning grin of hers,—and what good has come of our visit? I am but a subordinate, Captain Ludlow, and I know my duty too well not to be silent in a squall, and I hope too well not to know how to speak when my commander wishes the opinions of his officers at a council; and therefore mine, just now, is perhaps different from that of some others in this ship, that I will not name, who are good men, too, though none of the oldest.” “And what is thy opinion, Trysail?—the ship is doing well, and she carries her canvas bravely.” “The ship behaves like a well-bred young woman in the presence of the Queen; modest, but stately—but, of what use is canvas, in a chase where witchcraft breeds squalls, and shortens sail in one vessel, while it gives flying kites to another! If Her Majesty, God bless her! should be ever persuaded to do so silly a thing as to give old Tom Trysail a ship, and the said ship lay, just here-a-way, where the Coquette is now getting along so cleverly, why then, as in duty bound, I know very well what her commander would do——” “Which would be——?” “To, in all studding-sails, and bring the vessel on the wind.” “That would be to carry you to the southward, while the chase lies here in the eastern board!” “Who can say, how long she will lie there? They told us, in York, that there was a Frenchman, of our burthen and metal, rummaging about among the fishermen, lower down on the coast. Now, sir, no man knows that the war is half over better than myself, for not a ha’penny of prize-money has warmed my pocket, these three years;—but, as I was saying, if a Frenchman will come off his ground, and will run his ship into troubled water, why—whose fault is it but his own? A pretty affair might be made out of such a mistake, Captain Ludlow; whereas running after yonder brigantine, is napping out the Queen’s canvas for nothing. The vessel’s bottom will want new sheathing, in my poor opinion, before you catch him.” “I know not, Trysail,” returned his captain, glancing an eye aloft; “everything draws, and the ship never went along with less trouble to herself. We shall not know which has the longest legs, till the trial is made.”