Newton cast an appealing glance at Isabel, who immediately interfered,—“Charlotte, for shame! you are preventing Mr Forster from going to his duty. My dear Laura, do not be so foolish; Mr Forster can be of no service to us: but he will be on deck. Let go, Laura.”
Newton was released. “I am much obliged to you, Miss Isabel,” said Newton, with his foot on the ladder; “but I have no time now to express my thanks—not to be on deck—”
“I know it, Mr Forster: go up, I beseech you, do not wait a moment;” and Newton sprung up the ladder; but not before he had exchanged with Isabel a glance, which, had he been deficient in courage, would have nerved him for the approaching combat. We must leave the ladies with Mr Ferguson (who had no pleasant office), while we follow Newton on deck. The stranger had borne down with studding-sails, until within three miles of the India-men, when she rounded to. She then kept away a little, to close nearer, evidently examining the force opposed to her. The Indiamen had formed the line of battle in close order, the private signal between English men-of-war and East India ships flying at their mast-heads.
“Extremely strange, that she does not answer the private signal,” said the colonel to the second-mate.
“Not at all, if she don’t know how.”
“You are convinced, then, that she is a French frigate?”
“No, not positive; but I’ll bet you ten to one she is:— bet off, if either of us are killed, of course!”
“Thanky; I never bet,” answered the colonel, turning away.
“What do you think of her, Mr Mathews?” said Captain Drawlock to the first-mate, who had his eye on the ship.
“She is English built and English rigged, sir, that I’ll swear; look at her lower yard-arms, the squaring of her topsails. She may be French now, but the oak in her timbers grew in old England.”