“A Yankee rebel brig,” returned the young officer. “I think we’ve made a prize, sir; and she’s armed, too,” he added, noticing for the first time the six-pounder amidships. The unseen owner of the voice from the frigate’s quarter-deck replied again. “Examine into her papers and if she’s all right let her proceed. If not, we’ll put a prize crew on her and send her into Portsmouth.” “Aye, aye, sir,” was the lieutenant’s answer, and then he turned and requested that Captain Conyngham would produce his papers and muster his crew in the waist. Conyngham politely asked the young officer to follow him down to the cabin. As he opened the chest that contained the charts and papers his mind was working quickly. He knew that it might be easy to claim that the Charming Peggy was the property of loyal British subjects, for there was nothing to prove otherwise. No one but himself and Mr. Jarvis knew what her mission was, and he did not doubt that he could pull the wool over the young officer’s eyes, if it were not for the presence of the two plotters now confined in the forward hold. If their presence should be discovered and their story listened to, he doubted if anything he might say could save him from being taken into a British port; and the prospect before him was exceedingly unpleasant, in view of the fact that in his mind a long war was about to begin. Still, he hoped that the officer’s search would not prove a diligent one, and that the presence of Higgins and McCarthy would not be discovered. The officer looked at the papers carefully, and his words after glancing at them cast a gloom upon Captain Conyngham’s hopes. “I shall have to take a look into your hold,” he said peremptorily, “and ask a few questions of the crew.” Conyngham smiled. “You will find something there in the hold about which I intend to tell you,” he said, “and we can both be gainers, I am sure, by the fact. I have with me two troublesome rapscallions, who, I think, owe a term of service to his Majesty. Two deserters, I am sure, that I shall be glad to turn over to you, and I can say good riddance to them with pleasure.” It was a bold step he was taking and he knew it, but it was the only way he could forestall any story that the plotters might tell, and there was the one hope that, being acknowledged deserters, the men might be hastened on board the frigate and their yarn disbelieved. He called up through the transom over his head to Mr. Jarvis, and the latter answered him at once. “Bring the prisoners out of the hold,” he said, “and get their belongings together to hand them over,” he ordered. “Aye, aye, sir,” replied Mr. Jarvis, catching the drift of the captain’s orders. “We’ll be glad to get them out of the ship, sir.”