In an hour after these events, I was on board the ‘Will o’ the Wisp,’ greatly to the relief of Captain Jem, who feared, from my long stay, that some evil had befallen me; and with the first puff of sea-breeze in the morning, we were gliding past the point of the Pallisades out into the open ocean, on my first buccaneering voyage. As the sun rose into a cloudless sky, the merry trade-wind freshened until it tore up the tops of the long swells into ridges of rolling foam, and caused the schooner to careen gaily over, so that the water buzzed, and gushed, and gurgled in the lee-scupper holes. Then my spirits, which all night long had been heavy and depressed, rose with every mile of sea which rolled between us and the land, and I felt as elated and merry, bound upon a wild and venturesome expedition to an unhealthy and little known coast, as when the ‘Golden Grove’ raised her anchor from the sands of Leith, and I expected in due time to see the hills of Italy and Greece.
We had a fierce and wild-looking crew, wearing in their dress the fashions of many lands; some were clad in jackets cut out of rich brocades and stuffs captured from the Spaniards. Others had doublets of hide. All wore moustachioes and beards, and carried great broad-bladed knives stuck into girdles of leather, or neatly twisted yarn. The experience of a few days showed us that we were manned by active and skilful seamen, one or two who turned out inferior in this respect being set to duties fitted for them, such as cooking, serving out the provisions from the casks, and helping the carpenter or sail-maker. Moreover, the men seemed tractable as well as handy fellows, and were on very good terms with each other, and quite delighted with the captain and the ship. To this there was but one exception—a sailor from London, called Bell. This man was sullen, sulky, and lazy, and Captain Jem having found him skulking from work, upon one occasion, when the wind blew very fresh, and the whole crew were on deck taking in sail, gave him so strong a hint with the flat of his cutlass, that for some time, at least, there was no repetition of the offence.
On the third day, after losing sight of Jamaica, soon after sunrise, we descried a great sail to windward. The weather was then almost calm, and the swell trifling. Still the appearance of the sky was, as we thought, threatening. The sun had risen of a fiery red, and huge fleecy banks of vapour brooded over the ocean. The sail must have been for some time in sight ere we had distinguished it from the wreaths of white morning mist which here and there floated over the water; but having made it out, we knew that so great a spread of canvas must arise from a stately ship. Now, if she were an Englishman, a Frenchman, or a Dutchman, we had nothing to say to her, whereas if she were a Spaniard, she must be either an exceeding rich merchantman, in which case it was our business to speak her as fast as possible, or she was a man-of war, in which case, we could hardly pack too much canvas upon the schooner to get her out of such a dangerous neighbourhood. However, the ship had the weather-guage of us; she would bring down the sea-breeze with her, and all we could do was to lie idly upon the swell, watching her motions. For myself, I climbed to the schooner’s main-topmast, with the best perspective glass we had on board; and I had not been long there before I could plainly perceive that our big neighbour had felt the power of the sea-breeze, for she rose fast, spreading her great sheets of canvas out, like wings, and coming directly down upon us.
Captain Jem then hailed me eagerly from the deck, asking whether she looked like a merchant ship or a frigate. At first, I could give little satisfaction to his questions, as the stranger was coming directly towards us; but presently, whether from bad steering or not I am unaware, she gave a sheer to starboard, and lifting that moment upon a swell, I saw that she carried a great broadside of heavy guns, with a very high poop, rising I am sure forty feet above the water, and all encrusted, as it were, with galleries and carved windows, after the fashion in which the Spaniards build their men-of-war. Upon this intelligence, we prepared for immediate flight. We were to leeward, and so had nothing for it but to run before the wind. As yet, however, only those little puffs or airs called by sailors cat’s-paws, the precursors of the coming wind, were stealing over the great shiny backs of the smooth lazy swells, whereas the Spanish frigate, for such we doubted her not to be, was in the midst of roughened water, and rolling two great ridges of white foam, from beneath her bows. How we cursed the chance which condemned us to lie idle on the ocean, when a formidable enemy was swooping down upon us, with a wind which made his heaviest canvas surge, and his stout masts bend and creak. Meantime, however, we prepared to set studding-sails, and indeed hoisted them to be ready for the first of the coming breeze, at the same time, by the help of a sweep or great oar swinging round the head of the schooner in the direction which circumstances compelled us to take. This manœuvre was instantly observed on board the great ship, for she straightway fired a cannon, and hauled up the gorgeous ensign of Spain to her main-topmast head, where it streamed forth in all its red and yellow glory. The next moment a bright spout of flame flashed from the Spaniard’s bows, and the ball came skipping along the sea, making its last plunge not a quarter of a mile from us. But almost at the same moment our sails flapped and surged, then steadily swelling out, the schooner began to slip through the water. Seeing this, the Spaniards fired again and again; but without effect. Meantime, we were hard at work, setting every stitch of canvas we could get to draw, and presently we had quite enough of wind for the safety of our spars, the breeze driving before it that heavy pelting shower, which often falls soon after sunrise, and which sailors call the Pride of the Morning. The ‘Will-o’-the-Wisp’ was now careering along at her full speed, rolling heavily before the great following surges, which would often rise in white foam, hissing and glancing round her stern, and then melting, as it were, from beneath her, would sweep on, while the schooner plunged heavily down into the trough, her sails flapping like thunder in the lull, and then tearing and struggling, as though they would drag the masts out of the keel as the vessel was hove high again on the crest of the next following wave. Still the large ship was gaining upon us fast. A schooner is a species of vessel unfitted to scud before a brisk gale, like a square rigged ship, although in beating up to windward, we would most likely have the advantage. However, we spread every inch of canvas we could stretch out, and Captain Jem and myself both stood by the tiller. In an hour from the commencement of the chase, the Spaniard was not a mile astern of us; and truly, if the great ship had been a friend, she would have been a gay and a gallant sight—with her brave tall masts, and great sheets of canvas, which rolled from side to side, like a tower which totters in an earthquake, and her vast bows, all carved and encrusted with ornaments and devices, which would now plunge deeply into the brine, and then rise with the sea water pouring and flashing down, amid the sculptures and images of saints and long moulded and fretted ledges and serpentine projections of carved wood, which extended in gracious undulations on either side of the cut-water. But we had little mind to admire the cunning work of the Spanish artificers, although, unhappily, every moment we saw it plainer and plainer. Our men began to look pale and troubled, and spoke in whispers to each other, and some of them lay sullenly down upon the deck. Meanwhile, Captain Jem and I consulted together in a low voice, and presently hit upon a plan which would give us, at all events, a last chance.
‘Nicky Hamstring,’ said Captain Jem, ‘show the Don a sight of the flag which Sir Francis Drake carried against the great Armada.’
At this bold speech, the men seemed to pluck up a little.
‘What, boys!’ quoth brave Jem; ‘you do not mean to stretch out your throats to the Spaniard’s whittles?’
‘Where is the use of preaching?’ cries one of the men. ‘If we don’t strike and heave-to, he will give us the stem, run his ship crash over us, and send us to the bottom before we can say a prayer.’
Captain Jem pulled out a great pistol and cocked it.
‘That was George Bell’s voice!’ he shouted. ‘Hark ye, you snivelling cur, say but another syllable of striking or heaving-to, and I’ll send you to hell with the word upon your lips. Comrades,’ continued the captain, raising his voice, ‘is it fit that brave men and staunch should listen to a hen-hearted skulk like the man who spoke?’