"What's the odds? We've got a description. h.e.l.lo! Forced draft, eh?"

"Yes, it looks like trouble. You wanted to see a pirate chase, Eric. I don't believe that's on the boards, but at least a mutiny chase smacks of the old days."

The information given by the schooner proved to be startlingly correct, for a couple of hours later the lookout in the crow's-nest reported,

"Sail on the port bow!"

"Where away?" asked the chief officer.

"Nearly dead ahead, sir," was the reply.

The captain leveled his gla.s.s at the craft. Eric watched him closely, for his expression was puzzling. In an hour's time the _Miami_ which, under forced draft, was flying through the water, overhauled the vessel.

Just as the schooner had reported, the bark was in irons, with her yards braced athwartwise and her sails aback. The British merchant flag was flying at her mizzen-gaff, with the ensign down.

No sooner was the _Miami_ within a mile or two of the bark than the vessel squared around her yards and began to scud before the wind. She had a good pair of heels and it was not surprising that the schooner had not started to pursue. There was no real reason why she should interfere. But with the Coast Guard cutter it was another matter. A signal of distress had been seen, an American vessel had called on the cutter, and now the suspected craft was running away. The chase began.

No sooner did the bark realize that she was actually being chased than men were sent aloft, and the fore-royal and main sky-sail were set, a heavy press of the sail for the full breeze. This absolutely determined the fact that the Coast Guard cutter would chase, for the bark was fleeing. It was getting late in the afternoon, and within a couple of hours darkness would close down. The moon would not rise until nearly midnight, so that there would be two or three hours in which the sailing vessel could give the cutter the slip. Little by little, however, the _Miami_ began to close up. The breeze freshened, increasing the chances of the fugitive, but still the cutter lessened the distance between them.

Immediately after dinner, a few minutes before eight bells struck in the second dog watch, the first lieutenant, at the captain's direction, gave orders to clear away the bow gun. The gun crew sprang to stations, and a moment later the sharp crack of a rapid fire six-pounder sounded across the waters of the Gulf of Mexico, an order from Uncle Sam for the fleeing bark to stop.

But the stranger paid no heed. With the gla.s.s, figures could be seen on the main deck and on the p.o.o.p, but it was too far away to determine what they were doing.

The captain turned suddenly to the officer of the deck. "Did you see anything, Mr. Keelson?" he asked.

The officer, who had his eyes glued to his gla.s.s, replied,

"I thought I saw the smoke of shots!"

"That's what I thought," the captain answered. Then, in a quick voice of command, he added,

"You may use solid shot!"

A few seconds sufficed to carry out the work.

"Try for her upper spars!" was the next order.

The sharp crack of a shot from the six-pounder was the reply, and simultaneously, holes appeared in the gaff topsail and the main topgallant staysail. The wind immediately slivered the sails to ribbons and they began lashing about the rigging. At this, the main yards were swung round, the mainsails came aback and ten minutes later the _Miami_ was alongside.

Two boats' crews, fully armed, were sent aboard. The situation which greeted Eric, in the second lieutenant's boat, was unusual. A rope ladder had been thrown over the ship's side from the main deck. Above the ladder was an excited group, all shouting at the top of their voices. The senior second lieutenant, who was in charge of the boat to which Eric had been a.s.signed, took command of the party. He asked for the captain. One of the men pointed to the helmsman.

"Are you the captain?" the Coast Guard officer demanded.

"Si, signor," the man answered, "I the captain."

"Johnson," said the lieutenant, "relieve the wheel!"

One of the Coast Guard men saluted, stepped forward and took the wheel.

The vessel was hove to.

"Are you English?" the lieutenant asked, when this manoeuver had been completed.

"Italiano!" the captain of the bark replied.

"Then what's that flag doing there?" the Coast Guard officer asked, pointing to the reversed British merchant flag which still hung at the gaff.

The other shrugged his shoulders.

"The only one I have. The mate he take the others," he answered.

"Where's the mate?"

An evil-looking fellow with rings in his ears and a long knife stuck in his belt slouched forward. He did not come alone. Half a dozen sailors, evidently part of a gang, came aft with him.

Thinking that a little example might be salutary, the lieutenant turned to the file of men who had come on board with him. The men had their rifles at the carry.

"'Tion! Order arms!"

The b.u.t.ts of the rifles came down on the ship's deck with the precision of clockwork and the rattle was ominous. The Coast Guard officer had a steely note in his voice, as he continued.

"You're the mate?"

"Yes," the man said sulkily, but in good English, "I'm the first mate, all right."

"Did you remove the signal flags from the locker?"

"What if I did?"

"Did you receive orders from your captain to do so?"

"Not exactly--"

"Yes or no!"

"N-no!"

"And was he on deck at the time?"

"Yes."

"Did he order you not to haul down the flag?"

"I don't have to do everything he tells me."

"Did he order you not to haul down the flag? Yes or no?"

"Well, yes."

"And did you haul it down several times?"