"Where's that boat's crew?" inquired the captain, meaning the men who had been drilled in lowering the yawl and pulling off to imaginary prizes. "Here's the keys to the cabin, Marcy. Unlock the door and give every man who comes to you a saber, revolver, and a box of cartridges. And you," he added, turning to the first mate as Marcy took the keys and hastened below, "tumble ten men besides the boat's crew into the yawl, go off to the prize, and send the master and his papers on board of us. Put all the schooner's company, except the mates, in double irons, and stow them away somewhere under guard. Then keep your weather eye on me and follow in my wake when I fill away for Newbern. That's the way we'll manage things as often as we take a prize." While these orders were being obeyed the _Osprey_ was sailing steadily toward her prize; and by the time the men had been selected and the small arms distributed, she had come as close to her as Captain Beardsley thought it safe to venture. Having performed his duty, Marcy returned to the deck just in time to see the prize crew climbing upon her deck. A quarter of an hour later the boat came back, bringing a strange man who certainly took matters very coolly, seeing that he had lost his vessel and a valuable cargo. "Captain," said he, as he clambered over the _Osprey's_ rail, "I don't understand the situation at all, for all your mate would say to me was that my ship was a prize to the Confederate privateer _Osprey._" "What else did you want him to say?" asked Captain Beardsley, with a smile that must have made the merchant skipper angry. "That's the whole thing in a nutshell. Where are your papers? See that flag up there? That's the one I sail under. You must have heard that there were such fellows as me afloat, or you wouldn't have shied off as you did." "Your appearance was all right, but I didn't like the way you acted," replied the skipper. "Yes, I have heard that there are some gentlemen of your sort roaming around the Gulf." "Your schooner is the _Mary Hollins_, bound from Havana to Boston with an assorted cargo," said Captain Beardsley. "There is no attempt made to 'cover' either?" "No, sir; it is an American vessel and her cargo is consigned to an American house," answered the skipper, who knew it would be useless to deny it with the plain facts staring Captain Beardsley in the face. "But, captain, I protest against your putting my men in irons. They are not felons, to be treated that way." "Can't help it," said Beardsley shortly. "Can't you see for yourself that I have a small crew, and that I must take measures to prevent your men from recapturing the prize? I'll let 'em out as soon as we get through Hatteras."