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The Flying Fish rapidly covered the calm waters of the inlet and was soon dancing over the swells outside. "I'm going to let her out a bit," said Rob suddenly; "look out for spray." "Spray don't bother a brine-pickled old salt like me," laughed the captain. "Let her go." The Flying Fish seemed fairly to leap forward as Merritt gave her the full power of her engine.
No sooner had the ship let her anchor splash than a boat was sent over to her with the captain of the sloop who made haste to pay his compliments and explain his voyage. He was a portly, sallow man with a blustering manner and looked more like a bailiff or a tapster than a brine-pickled gentleman of fortune. Blackbeard hailed him cordially and invited him into the cabin.
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