Leaving the wheel to the
frightened seaman, he sprang into the port rail, to see where the
stranger would strike them. As he did so, that mysterious craft flew by,
and the whole sea seemed lighted up by a strange illumination. It was
like a terrible dream--so wild, so supernatural and unearthly. As
Captain Lane stood by the port rail, he saw right under his quarter, a
large, low, black brig, with her decks crowded with men, and guns
protruding from her ports; while on the weather rail, clinging with one
hand to the shrouds, stood a strange, demoniacal-looking figure, holding
in his outstretched hand, above the water, a burning blue light. On the
quarter-deck a little knot of men seemed standing, a short distance
apart from them was a strikingly handsome man, who, from his air of
superiority, Lane at once knew to be the commander. His perfectly poised
and graceful attitude, and thorough composure, as he removed a cigar
from his mouth and motioned an order to the helmsman, struck the
beholder as wonderful.
In an instant the whole thing flashed upon the captain--_he was a
pirate_! He had run under the stern of the brig and burned a blue light
to read the name of the vessel, and see if the bird was worth plucking.
Captain Lane's decision was instantaneous. He knew that the white
feather never helped one out with such fellows. It was all the work of
an instant.
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