up and down his mast."

"Huzza!" cried Jemmy Duff, who was midshipman of the cutter. "There's
farewell to the wind for Mr Grego."

"Lower the boats, Mr Saltwell," was heard in the deep tones of the
captain's voice.

The first lieutenant repeated the order. Mr Brown's whistle was next
heard piping the boats away, and getting out the cutter, and in another
minute the crews and the respective officers were in them, waiting for
the commander to shove off. He had gone below for an instant for his
sword, and when he stepped into his boat, though he looked pale, there
was resolution in his eye to dare the worst, and if needs be to suffer
the worst. With a hearty cheer from their shipmates, the boats shoved
off, and pulled with lusty strokes towards the stranger. They had no
positive right as yet to consider her an enemy, except from the fact of
her having led them a somewhat longish chase; but as it was not much out
of their course, they had no reason to complain. The _Ione_ still kept
under sail, slowly drawing ahead.

The stranger appeared to be no way disconcerted at their approach, but
as she was almost entirely becalmed, she hauled up her foresail to get
it out of the way, and seemed quietly to be waiting for them.

"Can you make out what those fellows are about, sir?" asked Jemmy Duff
of his superior. "They don't seem to be afraid of us."

"Just stand up in the bows, and try what you can do to arouse their
fears, Duff," said Linton, laughing. "We must have sharp eyes to know
how they look at this distance, and perhaps as they know that they
cannot get away from us, they think it better to put a bold face on the
matter."

The sun was just about to sink in the waves as the boats came within
range of the stranger's guns, but she allowed them to pull on without
molestation, and as they got still nearer, they saw that she had no
boarding nettings triced up, though, through the open ports, the crew
were seen at their quarters, and the guns were run out ready for action.
She appeared to be crowded with men in the Greek costume. They had but
little time for observing anything before they were close to her.

"What do those boats want here?" hailed the voice of some one standing
on her poop.

"These are the boats of His Britannic Majesty's brig, _Ione_," answered
Captain Fleetwood, standing up in the stern sheets of his gig. "What
brig is that?"

Linton every instant expected a shower of grape as the answer o