Cyrus Townsend Brady 
The Grip of Honor 

‘The wind is freshening; we gain upon her easily, I think, sir.’
‘Decidedly. This is our best point of sailing, and our best wind, too. We can’t be going less than ten knots, ‘ said the captain, looking critically over the bows at the water racing alongside.
‘I can almost make out the name on her stern now with the naked eye, ‘ replied the other, staring hard ahead through the drift and spray.
‘Have you a glass there, Mr. O’Neill?’ asked the captain.
‘Yes, sir, here it is, ‘ answered that gentleman, handing him a long, old-fashioned, cumbrous brass telescope, which he at once adjusted and focused on the ship they were chasing.
‘Ah!’ said the elder of the two speakers, a small, slender man, standing lightly poised on the topgallant forecastle with the careless confidence of a veteran seaman, as he examined the chase through the glass which the taller and younger officer handed him; ‘I can read it quite plainly with this. The M-a-i-d–Maidstone, a trader evidently, as I see no gun-ports nor anything that betokens an armament.’ He ran the tubes of the glass into each other and handed it back, remarking, ‘At this rate we shall have her in a short time.’