The stranger was undoubtedly an English brig-of-war of the largest class.
We could see the port-holes, through which the cannon protruded, and distinguish the gleam of muskets and cutlasses, and other instruments of destruction.

The sails were so large and so neatly fitted, and the hull was so symmetrical in its model, and the brig glided along so gracefully over the waves, that I was charmed with her appearance, and could hardly express my satisfaction.
We continued on our course, with the American ensign flying, our captain hoping that this emissary of John Bull, seeing the character of our vessel, which no one could mistake, would suffer us to pass on our way unmolested, when a volume of flame and smoke issued from the bow of the sloop-of-war, and a messenger, in the shape of a cannon ball, came whistling over the waves, and, after crossing our bows in a diagonal direction, and striking the surface of the water several times, buried itself in a huge billow at no great distance.

This was language that required no interpreter.

It was a mandate that must be obeyed.

The helm was ordered "hard-a-lee," the foresail hauled up, and the topsail laid to the mast.
The armed brig hoisted British colors, and her boat was soon alongside the Dolphin.