she
ain't a carcumstance to the _Black Venus_."

"How is she painted?" asked Smellie. "Is she all black, or does she
sometimes sport a white riband?"

"Aha!" thought I; "that looks as though my suspicions are at last shared
by somebody else. Richards' communication to the skipper has surely
borne fruit."

"Wall," replied the Yankee with a knowing twinkle in his eye, "_when she
sailed from here_ she was black right down to her copper. But that
ain't much to go by; I guess her skipper knows a trick or two."

"You think, then, he might alter her appearance as soon as he got
outside?" insinuated Smellie.

"He might--and he mightn't," was the cautious reply.

"Um!" observed Smellie. Then, as if inspired with a sudden suspicion,
he asked:

"Have you seen any men-o'-war in here lately?"

I could see by the knowing look in our Yankee friend's eyes that he read
poor Smellie like a book.

"Wall," he replied. "Come to speak of it, there _was_ a brig in here a
few days ago that looked like a man-o'-war. She were flyin' French
colours--when she flew any at all--and called herself the _Vestale_."

"Ah!" ejaculated Smellie. "Did any of her people board you?"

"You bet!" was the somewhat ambiguous answer. Not that the reply was at
all ambiguous in itself; it was the peculiar emphasis with which the
words were spoken, and the peculiar expression of the man's countenance
as he uttered them, which constituted the ambiguity; the _words_ simply
implied that the _Pensacola_ had been boarded; the _look_ spoke volumes,
but the volumes were written in an unknown tongue, so far as we at least
were concerned.

"What is the _Vestale_ like?" was Smellie's next question.

"Just as like the _Black Venus_ as two peas in a pod," was the reply,
given with evident quiet amusement.

"And how was _she_ painted?" persisted Smellie. "Ah, there now,
stranger, you've puzzled me!" was the unexpected answer.

"Why? Did you not say you saw her?" queried Smellie sharply.

"No, I guess not; I didn't say anything of the sort. I was ashore when
her people boarded me. It was my mate that told me about it."

"Your mate? Can we see him?" exclaimed Smellie eagerly.

"Yes, I reckon," was the reply. "He's ashore now; but you've only to
pull about five miles up the creek, and I calculate you'll find him
somewheres."

"Thanks!" answered Smellie. "I'm afraid we can't spare the time for
that. Can you tell me which of the two brigs--the