The morning dawned upon a wild sea. We were running off to the eastward so fast that it was necessary to stop the Arrow. The tremendous sea following us threatened several times to board, and about nine o’clock in the morning a big fellow fell in the waist. A dozen men were standing near the galley door when the water fell on deck, and a full hundred tons of it thundered upon the rascals. All forward disappeared in the white smother, and I had just a glimpse of a puff of white steam mingling with the storm of spray and splinters. The whole side of the galley had been swept away and the place gutted, the double planking being torn off as though a heavy shell had struck and exploded within.

Six men were carried overboard with the wash, and nothing could be done for them. They passed out of sight before we recovered from the shock of the rushing water. Benson stood near me on the poop and smiled grimly.

“She won’t stand many like that, will she?” he asked.

“One or two more will finish her,” I assented. “We will have to stop her.”

By desperate endeavour I managed to get some men to the braces, and after half an hour’s hard work hove the Arrow to in as mighty a sea as ever ran in the South Atlantic. She would drop her long jib-boom down the side of a hill of water until it dipped, while looking over the stern we could still see a long way up the slanting sea. It was a grand but disagreeable sight, for we were ill manned for heavy weather, and I had no officers except Brown to help or relieve me. But she rode it down without further mishap, plunging for two days before the gale subsided and allowed us to get way upon her again. Then the weather moderated and we stood along upon our course to the southwest. The stove was rigged up in the galley, and the hungry men, now desperate with the hardship, grumbled and growled and showed a temper which boded no good.

We had made nothing toward our destination for some days, and when this fact became known, I was treated to growls and surly looks from all hands.

On the sixteenth day of our run we were about three hundred miles to the eastward of the River Plate and had crossed the thirty-fifth parallel. One or two sails had been sighted; but we had never raised the craft above the horizon’s rim, and the men had become hopeful in their security. But, with a gang of cutthroats, an easy, quiet life soon palls. After the danger of hanging disappears for a time, they soon become discontented for lack of excitement. They long for some new danger to interest them. The past is not pleasant to dwell upon and the present is dull.

On this sixteenth day the men were grouped about the main-deck in the afternoon, as had been their custom from the start. Some were playing cards in the lee of the deck-house, while others threw dice or lounged and smoked in the gangways. Benson was below, but his trusty man, Johnson, was on the poop. I had occasion to send a man aloft to overhaul a leech-line, and the man who went up was a sharp-eyed young villain who had been to sea before and knew what was needed.

He had hardly reached the crosstrees when he hailed the deck:

“Sail on port bow!” he bawled, and pointed in the direction the vessel bore, which was just over the port cat-head. My heart gave a jump, but I tried to appear careless. I climbed up a few ratlines in the mizzen and looked forward. In a moment I saw a tiny white speck reflecting the slanting light of the sun. Then I looked down on deck and caught the look in Brown’s eyes. He was ready for action.

Our vessel had been fitted out for a long voyage, the run to China often taking five months; but the excesses of the convicts had quickly finished off the kegs of spirits and the bottled liquors for the after-cabin mess. The three men who acted as cooks were kept busy all the time serving out the plundered victuals meant for the after-guard, so that after the first week Benson was forced to cut them down to ship’s rations. This had caused a mutiny, and it was only put down after a few men were killed and some injured. The effects of the disturbance were still visible and there was a good deal of loud grumbling done forward at meal-time.

Johnson gazed at the strange sail a few moments, and then told the man at the wheel to luff all he could and bade me attend to the bracing of the yards. I saw what he meant to do, and never did I jam a ship’s yards on to her backstays as I did them.

I believe the villain intended to commit piracy from the first; but, aside from this, he had such an overpowering taste for liquor that he was willing to run any risk in order to procure some, either by trade or otherwise, without waiting for Benson.

The wind held steady and we went through the smooth sea at the rate of eight or nine knots. The stranger rose rapidly on our weather bow, and it was evident that we were overhauling him fast enough.

At eight bells his courses were rising above the water, and my heart was pounding away under my ribs like a sledge. The men aboard us were about as poor sailors as, inversely, they were a fine set of rascals. Otherwise, they would have been suspicious, on seeing the depth of the stranger’s topsails, and stood away to leeward with all possible speed.

When I had had a good look at the canvas ahead, I could hardly keep from smiling, and I feared I might do something to show my thoughts. I knew no merchant vessel afloat hoisted a full topsail fore and aft.

“What is he?” asked Johnson, coming close to me when I came on the poop.

“I can’t tell at this distance,” I answered, “but he looks to be a West Coast trader. Most likely he is one with a mixed cargo.”

“There’ll not be many men on him, then?”

“No,” I answered, carelessly, well knowing what the scoundrel was thinking of. “Probably a dozen or fifteen at the most.”

Benson had now come on deck, and he, together with Johnson and the few leading men, held a conference as to what they should do about the strange ship ahead. It didn’t take long for them to decide after I gave them to understand the number of men they would probably find in the crew.

“There’ll be no trouble about overhauling him before dark?” asked Benson.

“None in the world,” I answered; “we can go ten fathoms to his one any time.”

“Then hoist the Roger and let him know his time has come,” said the swaggering villain.

Some of the more reckless spirits among the men had made a black flag and had stitched the canvas figures of a skull and cross-bones across its centre. They had never used it, and had made it more out of a spirit of bravado, while trying to kill time, than anything else. In a few moments it flew free and straight from the peak of the monkey-gaff.

The men were almost wild when they found it was decided to take the strange ship. Benson stood on the break of the poop and gave orders for getting things in readiness forward. Then it was as though a pack of wolves had broken loose on the main-deck.

Weapons were gotten out and cleaned. Cutlasses from the Countess of Warwick and sheath-knives from the slop-chest were carefully sharpened. Before the sun had sunk near the horizon, the black hull of the stranger rose above the sea, and the villains were ready to take him.

He was about three miles ahead now and drawing a little to leeward, so there was no trouble about him seeing our flag if he chose to look. I felt that he would be interested in its peculiar colour.

I passed Brown and made a sign for him to be ready. I fixed my knife where it would be handy.

Every moment was precious now. If the stranger would only see that flag before the convicts could tell of their mistake and crowd on canvas and get the weather-gage, all would be well.

I watched him and saw the slanting rays of the sun shining on carefully scraped spars and snowy canvas, but no funnel showed above his deck and no ports showed in the long, smooth stretch of his shining black sides.

Suddenly something fluttered in the wind. I looked harder, for we were so close now that the British ensign could be seen distinctly as it stood out straight in the breeze.

Yes, I was not mistaken. Surely he was springing his luff and the canvas was slatting. Then I saw something that made my heart jump.

Up he came to the wind, and as he did so I saw a line of even breaks in the smooth black hull as he dropped his ports outboard. Then a puff of white smoke spurted from his side, and by the time the report of the gun reached our ears the convicts saw an English gunboat awaiting the explanation of the flying of that black flag.