Webster took a look round to satisfy himself.
“Now,” he said, “you go below for a snack and a snooze. You’ll find some tack on the table. Tumble into my cabin, as yours is too wet.”
Frank, nothing loath, went down, and was soon in a sound sleep, out of which he was aroused well on in the afternoon by a rough shaking, to find Webster bending over him with a sparkle in his eyes.
“There’s some fun afoot, my lad, with the prospect of sudden death and damp burial, so hurry up,” and the breezy first officer went like a tornado down the narrow alley.
Frank was quickly on deck, and found Webster talking to the look-out man, while Captain Pardoe and Miss Laura were on the bridge anxiously watching some object on the starboard bows. Looking in that direction, he could see nothing but a heavy streamer of smoke tailing away to the north, plainly showing that the steamer was on a course that would intercept the “destroyer.” Mounting to the bridge, he sighted the double funnels and heavy top hamper of a large vessel with the unmistakable cut of an ironclad.
“What do you make her?” said the Captain gloomily, more to break the silence than to ask for information.
Frank took the proffered glass, and bringing it to bear, it revealed two barbette towers, with long guns projecting, sharp bows heavily scrolled with gilt, and a mass of tumbled waters pouring before her rush.
“She is coming along at a tremendous pace, Captain.”
“Ay, eighteen knots, and she’ll be across our bows in a quarter of an hour, if she doesn’t ram us to gain a little experience.”
“I am sure she cannot be in pursuit of us,” said Miss Laura, stamping her foot. “How could she hit off our position so exactly, when we have made little smoke and stood well away from the English coast? She may be a French cruiser.”