Steadily southward sailed the brig Black Swan which bore upon its decks the happy Mander family and our poor friend Dickory, carrying with him his lifelong destiny in the shape of the blood-stained letter from Captain Vince.
The sackcloth draperies of Lucilla, with the red cord lightly tied about them, had given place to a very ordinary gown fashioned by her mother and herself, which added so few charms to her young face and sparkling eyes that Dickory often thought that he wished there were some bushes on deck so that she might stand behind them and let him see only her face, as he had seen it when first he met her. But he saw the pretty face a great deal, for Lucilla was very anxious to know things, and asked many questions about Barbadoes, and also asked if there was any probability that the brig would go straight on to that lovely island without bothering to stop at Jamaica. It was during such talks as this that Dickory forgot, when he did forget, the blood-stained letter that he carried with him always.
Our young friend still wore the naval uniform, although in coming on the brig he had changed it for some rough sailor's clothes. But Lucilla had besought him to be again a brave lieutenant.
They sailed and they sailed, and there was but little wind, and that from the south and against them. But Lucilla did not complain at their slow progress. The slowest vessel in the world was preferable just now to a desert island which never moved.
Davids was at the wheel and Mander stood near him. These old friends had not yet finished talking about what had happened in the days since they had seen each other. Mrs. Mander sat, not far away, still making clothes, and the little Lena was helping her in her childlike way.
Lucilla and Dickory were still talking about Barbadoes. There never was a girl who wanted to know so much about an island as that girl wanted to know about Barbadoes.
Suddenly there was a shout from above.
"What's that?" asked Mander.
"A sail," said Davids, peering out over the sea but able to see nothing.
Lucilla and Dickory did not cease talking. At that moment Lucilla did not care greatly about sails, there was so much to be said about Barbadoes.
There was a good deal of talking forward, and after a while the captain walked to the quarter-deck. He was a gruff man and his face was troubled.
"I am sorry to say," he growled, "that the ship we have sighted is a pirate; she flies the black flag."