Captain Risk now had his gear well cleared up and the shrouds well set up to stand a run before the ten-knot breeze.
With sprightly bounds the crew of the Holker obeyed the commands:
“Stand by main and fore-tacks!
“Let her pay off!
“Man her weather braces!
“Haul!”
As she sheered off, the ship now staggered before the wind sooner than the Englishman could realize the tactics of the brig.
The Holker had spirited away for half a mile before the lumbering yards of the frigate could be trimmed to meet the Yankee’s course.
The chase was now on, for better or for worse. Nothing less than heroic means could save the Holker. Her main-topsail, foresail, and fore-topsail, were all set and she was laboring hard under her cargo of flour; yet if Captain Risk could hold his own until he reached Egg Harbor Inlet, he would show the frigate, Roebuck, the most devilish piece of Yankee seamanship this side of Davy Jones’ locker.
On came the Roebuck with huge wings like a monstrous demon, yawing wildly on each crest from the enormous stretch of her after-canvas, but she was surely closing the gap between the ships. In another half-hour she would be within short range of the Holker. A chance shot might bring down the privateer’s topmast, and then all would be lost.