To give colour to this pretence, to which her even then unfinished
condition lent a _prima facie_ sanction, a gay party was assembled on
board. A number of ladies, friends and acquaintances of the builders,
enlivened the narrow, and as yet rough and unfinished deck with their
bright costumes, and seemed to afford a sufficient guarantee for the
return of the vessel to port. Luncheon was spread in the cabin, flags
decorated the seats hastily improvised on the sacred quarter-deck, and
all seemed bent upon making holiday.
Suddenly, however, the scene changed. At a signal from the Alabama a
small steam tug came puffing alongside, and to the visitors' great
astonishment they were politely requested to step on board. Relieved of
her gay cargo, the transformation of the Alabama proceeded with
rapidity. The luncheon had been already cleared away, and now seats and
flags, and all the rest of the holiday paraphernalia began speedily to
disappear. Late that evening and all the next day the bustle of
preparation continued, and at two o'clock in the morning of the 31st
July the anchor was once more weighed, and with a strong breeze from the
S.W. the "No. 290" started off, ostensibly on a voyage to Nassau in the
Bahamas.
Just in time. That morning the seizure was to have been made. At the
very moment that "No. 290" was heaving up her anchor, a huge despatch
"On Her Majesty's Service" was travelling down to Liverpool, at the top
speed of the north-western mail,[4] commanding the Customs' authorities
to lay an embargo on the ship.
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