My first intention was to send the brig to Port Royal in charge of the prize crew alone, remaining off the island in the Tern until Morillo should appear—as he would be certain to do, sooner or later—in his brigantine. A little reflection, however, caused me to alter my plans and to determine upon escorting the Three Sisters to her destination, lest she should haply encounter Morillo on the way, in which case the fate of her defenceless prize crew would probably be too dreadful to bear thinking about. As soon, therefore, as we were clear of the harbour I set the course for Jamaica, and away we both went, cheek by jowl, the brig—with a roaring breeze over her starboard quarter—reeling off her six and a half knots per hour with as much fuss and splutter as though she were going fifteen!
For the first two days nothing of any importance occurred. On the third night out from Cariacou, however,—or, to be strictly accurate, about two o’clock in the morning,—it being my watch on deck, the night dark and somewhat overcast, two sails were sighted on our starboard bow, heading to the eastward on the port tack, and steering a course which would bring them close to us. One of them was a craft of considerable size, the other a small vessel; and from the moment that these two facts became apparent, I made up my mind that one was the prize of the other, though which of the two was the captor, there was just then no means of ascertaining. The smaller craft was perhaps a privateer, and the big one her prize; or—quite as likely—the big craft might be a frigate, and the small craft her prize. In either case, however, it behoved me to be very careful; for one of the two was almost certain to be an enemy, and if she happened to be also the captor of the other it was more than probable she would tackle us. From the moment, therefore, when we first sighted them, I never allowed the night-glass to be off them for more than a few seconds at a time.
When first discovered, they were hull down, and only just distinguishable in the darkness as two vague blots of black against the lowering gloom of the night sky; but the trade wind was piping up rather stronger than usual that night, while we and the strangers were approaching each other on a nearly straight line. We consequently closed each other rapidly, and within about twenty minutes from the moment of their discovery we were able to make out that one of the twain was a full-rigged ship, while the other seemed to be a large brigantine; and a few minutes later I discovered that the ship was showing a much broader spread of canvas than the brigantine, thus proving the latter to be the faster craft of the two. It was scarcely likely, therefore, that the ship was a frigate; and if not that, she must be a merchantman, and doubtless the prize of the brigantine.
At this point, the question suggested itself to me: Might not the brigantine be Morillo’s craft? She appeared to be about the same size, so far as it was possible to distinguish in the darkness; and if so, it would fully account for the boldness with which she held on upon her course, instead of heaving about and endeavouring to avoid a possible enemy—for doubtless they had made us out almost if not quite at the same time as we had discovered them. I most fervently hoped it might be as I surmised, for, if so, I should have the fellow at advantage, inasmuch as he would doubtless have put a fairly strong prize crew on board the ship, which would proportionately weaken his own crew. Full of the hope that this Ishmael of the sea might be about to place himself within my power, I caused all hands to be called, and, having first made sail, sent them to quarters, the gunner at the same time descending to the magazine and sending up a plentiful supply of powder and shot. By the time that we were ready, the brigantine and her consort had neared us to within a couple of miles, the two craft closing meanwhile, doubtless for the purpose of communicating instructions. That they were quite prepared to fight aboard the brigantine was perfectly evident, for we could see that her deck was lit up with lanterns, the light of which, shining through her ports, enabled me to ascertain that she mounted six guns of a side. Both craft held their luff, but it was now quite clear that the brigantine was much the faster and more weatherly of the two, she walking away out to windward of the big fellow as though the latter had been at anchor the moment that she made sail in answer to our challenge.
And now ensued a little bit of manoeuvring on both sides, with the twofold object of discovering whether the stranger happened to be an enemy, and if so, to secure the weather-gage of him. We had the advantage, however, as we were running free and could haul our wind at any moment; and this advantage I kept by hauling up on the starboard tack and then heaving in stays with the topsail aback, waiting for the brigantine to close; which she presently did, ranging up within biscuit-toss of our lee quarter. She was now so close to us that, despite the darkness, it was quite possible to make out details; and it was with a feeling of mingled disgust and disappointment that I discovered that, whatever she might be, she certainly was not Morillo’s beautiful but notorious brigantine.
She was, however, in all probability an enemy,—it seemed to me that, so far as I could make out in the uncertain light of the partially clouded stars, she had a French look about her,—so, with the idea of securing the advantage of the first hail, I sprang upon the rail as she ranged up alongside, and hailed, in Spanish—
“Ho, the brigantine ahoy! What vessel is that?”
“The Belle Diane, French privateer. What schooner is that?” came the reply, also in Spanish of the most execrable kind, uttered with an unmistakable French accent.
“His Britannic Majesty’s schooner Tern, monsieur, to which ship I must request you to surrender, or I shall be under the painful necessity of blowing you out of the water,” answered I, firmly persuaded of the policy of rendering oneself as formidable as possible to one’s enemy.
But my well-meant endeavour proved to be a signal failure; the enemy was not in this case to be so easily frightened.