“This Mr. Ludlow is disposed to kill two birds with the same stone,” coolly observed the Skimmer, not even bending his head aside, to note the position of the ship. “He wakes the burghers of the town with his noise, while he menaces our boat with his bullets. We are seen, my friends, and have no dependence but our own manhood, with some assistance from the lady of the sea-green mantle. A quicker stroke, and a strong! You have the Queen’s cruiser before you, Master Coil; does she show boats on her quarters, or are the davits empty?” The seaman addressed pulled the stroke-oar of the boat, and consequently he faced the Coquette. Without in the least relaxing his exertions, he rolled his eyes over the ship, and answered with a steadiness that showed him to be a man accustomed to situations of hazard. “His boat-falls are as loose as a mermaid’s locks, your honor, and he shows few men in his tops; there are enough of the rogues left, however, to give us another shot.” “Her Majesty’s servants are early awake, this morning. Another stroke or two, hearts of oak, and we throw them behind the land!” A second shot fell into the water, just without the blades of the oars; and then the boat, obedient to its helm, whirled round the point, and the ship was no longer visible. As the cruiser was shut in by the formation of the land, the brigantine came into view on the opposite side of Corlaer’s. Notwithstanding the calmness that reigned in the features of the Skimmer, one who studied his countenance closely might have seen an expression of concern shadowing his manly face, as the Water-Witch first met his eye. Still he spoke not, concealing his uneasiness, if in truth he felt any, from those whose exertions were at that moment of the last importance. As the crew of the expecting vessel saw their boat, they altered their course, and the two were soon together. “Why is that signal still flying?” demanded the Skimmer, the instant his foot touched the deck of his brigantine, and pointing, as he spoke, at the little flag that fluttered at the head of the forward mast. “We keep it aloft, to hasten off the pilot,” was the answer. “Has not the treacherous knave kept faith?” exclaimed the Skimmer, half recoiling in surprise. “He has my gold, and in return I hold fifty of his worthless promises—ha!—the laggard is in yon skiff; ware the brig round, and meet him, for moments are as precious now as water in a desert.”