“Then you are going on a very gallant expedition, indeed,” observed Cecilia Ossulton; “I wish you joy.”
But Lord B— was too much excited to pay attention. They shoved off, and pulled towards the smuggler.
At this time the revenue boats were about five miles astern of the Happy-go-lucky, and the yacht about three-quarters of a mile from her in the offing. Pickersgill had, of course, observed the motions of the yacht; had seen her wear on chase, hoist her ensign and pendant, and fire her gun.
“Well,” said he, “this is the blackest ingratitude! To be attacked by the very people whom we smuggle for! I only wish she may come up with us; and, let her attempt to interfere, she shall rue the day: I don’t much like this, though.”
As we before observed, it fell nearly calm, and the revenue boats were in chase. Pickersgill watched them as they came up.
“What shall we do?” said Corbett,—“get the boat out?”
“Yes,” replied Pickersgill, “we will get the boat out, and have the goods in her all ready; but we can pull faster than they do, in the first place; and, in the next, they will be pretty well tired before they come up to us. We are fresh, and shall soon walk away from them; so I shall not leave the vessel till they are within half a mile. We must sink the ankers, that they may not seize the vessel, for it is not worth while taking them with us. Pass them along, ready to run them over the bows, that they may not see us and swear to it. But we have a good half hour, and more.”
“Ay, and you may hold all fast if you choose,” said Morrison, “although it’s better to be on the right side and get ready; otherwise, before half an hour, I’ll swear that we are out of their sight. Look there,” said he, pointing to the eastward at a heavy bank, “it’s coming right down upon us, as I said it would.”
“True enough; but still there is no saying which will come first, Morrison, the boats or the fog; so we must be prepared.”
“Hilloa! What’s this? Why, there’s a boat coming from the yacht!”