The big stranger, carrying the new wind, grew larger and larger. Through the glass Conyngham could make out three rows of ports, and the billowing canvas rising above the dark hull looked like a cloud hanging low in the sky. It was almost dead calm, and the Revenge swung lazily up and down, with her steering sails dipping uselessly in the water, while the brig, that had now caught the wind, bore down nearer and nearer. The men looked back at the quarter-deck with frightened, white faces. All the good fortune that had so far followed them in the cruise had apparently deserted them. They saw visions of their prize-money disappearing, and many of the knowing ones could imagine the crowded harbor of Portsmouth, with the big seventy-four lying at anchor, while black, faintly struggling objects depended from her yard-arms. The first mate and Conyngham had not exchanged a word, when suddenly the former, lifting his hand, broke the silence.
“She’s coming, captain; by tar, she’s coming!” he cried.
The big foresail of the Revenge lifted and the sheets and outhauls of the steering-sails spattered a line of spray as they tautened up out of the water. But it seemed almost too late that the breeze had reached them. Broad off the starboard bow was the brig, but a mile and a half away, while little more than twice that distance, dead astern, came the seventy-four, a roll of seething white playing under her forefoot and sweeping out on either side. Down on the wind came the ominous rolling of a drum.
“They’re beating to quarters, sir,” observed the mate; and then in almost semitragic despair he muttered, “and they’ve got us in their locker!”
But the Revenge was now slipping along swiftly, although she had not yet felt the full force of the following wind. The brig had set a little answering pennant to a new string of signals that had risen to the masthead of the seventy-four, and in obedience, although at extreme range, she began firing with her bow guns, the balls plashing harmlessly in the water a few hundred yards away, but each one appearing to come nearer than the last, and threatened to reach the Revenge at any moment. It looked black indeed for the little cruiser. Her actions had placed her, beyond doubt, in the minds of her pursuers as the vessel for whose capture a large reward had been offered. Subterfuge was useless. She had proclaimed herself as much as if she had flown the cross-barred flag with the wriggling rattlesnake that, bent to the color halyards, lay on deck ready to have risen and to have been tossed to the wind.