Mulford walked aft to meet the stranger at the gangway, and was relieved, rather than otherwise, at finding that Spike was already on the quarter-deck.  Should the vessel of war seize the brig, he could rejoice at it, but so strong were his professional ideas of duty to the craft he sailed in, that he did not find it in his heart to say aught against her.  Were any mishap to befall it, or were justice to be done, he preferred that it might be done under Spike’s own supervision, rather than under his.

“Call all hands, Mr. Mulford,” said Spike, as they met.  “I see a streak of day coming yonder in the east—­let all hands be called at once.  What strange boat is this we have alongside?”

This question was put to the strangers, Spike standing on his gangway-ladder to ask it, while the mate was summoning the crew.  The officer saw that a new person was to be dealt with, and in his quiet, easy way, he answered, while stretching out his hands to take the man-rope—­“Your servant, sir—­we are man-of-war’s men, belonging to one of Uncle Sam’s craft, outside, and have just come in to pay you a visit of ceremony.  I told one, whom I suppose was your mate, that I would just step on board of you.”

“Ay, ay—­one at a time, if you please.  It’s war-time, and I cannot suffer armed boat’s crews to board me at night, without knowing something about them.  Come up yourself, if you please, but order your people to stay in the boat.  Here, muster about this gangway, half a dozen of you, and keep an eye on the crew of this strange boat.”

These orders had no effect on the cool and deliberate lieutenant, who ascended the brig’s side, and immediately stood on her deck.  No sooner had he and Spike confronted each other, than each gave a little start, like that of recognition, and the lieutenant spoke.

“Ay, ay—­I believe I know this vessel now.  It is the Molly Swash, of New York, bound to Key West, and a market; and I have the honour to see Captain Stephen Spike again.”

It was Mr. Wallace, the second lieutenant of the sloop-of-war that had boarded the brig in the Mona Passage, and to avoid whom Spike had gone to the southward of Jamaica.  The meeting was very mal-a-propos, but it would not do to betray that the captain and owner of the vessel thought as much as this; on the contrary, Wallace was warmly welcomed, and received, not only as an old acquaintance, but as a very agreeable visiter.  To have seen the two, as they walked aft together, one might have supposed that the meeting was conducive of nothing but a very mutual satisfaction, it was so much like that which happens between those who keep up a hearty acquaintance.

“Well, I’m glad to see you again, Captain Spike,” cried Wallace, after the greetings were passed, “if it be only to ask where you flew to, the day we left you in the Mona Passage?  We looked out for you with all our eyes, expecting you would be down between San Domingo and Jamaica, but I hardly think you got by us in the night.  Our master thinks you must have dove, and gone past loon-fashion.  Do you ever perform that manoeuvre?”