“Ay, ay, my lad, we hear it; we’re not asleep at this end of the ship!” answered Winter. “Depend upon it, George,” he continued to me, “the Hoogly has been boarded and carried by a Frenchman. There!” as the sounds ceased, “it is all over, whatever it is. We will haul up a bit, and see if we can discover what has happened. Starboard, my man!” to the man at the wheel; “starboard, and let her come up to full and by. Hands to the sheets and braces, Mr Bowen. Brace sharp up on the larboard tack; and then let the men cast loose the guns and load them. Call all hands quietly, and let them go to quarters.”
The skipper peered into the binnacle again.
“Nor’-east, half east!” he continued, referring to the direction in which the schooner was now heading: “If we are in luck we ought to come athwart the Indiaman again in about twenty minutes—that is to say, if they have hove her to in order to transfer the prisoners.”
He pulled out his watch, noted the time, and replaced the watch in his pocket. “Just slip for’ard, Mr Bowen, and caution the hands to be as quiet as possible over their work,” said he. “And give the look-out men a hint to keep their eyes skinned. The French have undoubtedly taken the Indiaman by surprise; now we must see if we cannot give the Frenchmen a surprise in turn.”
I went forward to execute my orders; and upon my return found the skipper, watch in hand, talking to the chief mate, who, with the rest of the watch below, had been called. Meanwhile the crew were at quarters, and, having cast loose the guns, were busily loading them, the work being carried on as quietly as possible. As I rejoined the skipper, the arms-chest was brought on deck; and in a few minutes each man was armed with a cutlass and a brace of pistols.
By the time that these preparations were completed, the twenty minutes allowed us by Captain Winter to reach the scene of the recent disturbance had elapsed, and our topsail was laid to the mast, the word being passed along the deck for absolute silence to be maintained, and for each man to listen with all his ears, and to come aft and report if he heard any sound. Then we all fell to listening with bated breath; but not a sound was to be heard save the gurgle and wash of the water about the rudder as the schooner rose and fell gently to the lift of the sea.
In this way a full quarter of an hour was allowed to elapse, at the expiration of which the skipper remarked:
“Well, it is clear that, wherever the Indiaman may be, she is not hereabout. If, as I believe, she has been attacked, and has beaten the Frenchman off, she has of course proceeded on up channel; but if she has been taken, her captors have evidently headed at once for some French port, possibly having been near enough to have heard the hails that passed between us. If that was the case they would naturally be anxious to get away from the neighbourhood of their exploit as quickly as possible, for fear of being interfered with. And, assuming this supposition of mine to be correct, they will be certain to make for the nearest French port; which, in this case, is Cherbourg. We will therefore resume our course toward Cherbourg, when, if we are lucky, we may get a sight of both the Indiaman and the privateer at daybreak, if this confounded fog will only lift.”
We accordingly squared away once more upon our former course, which we followed until morning without hearing or seeing anything of the vessels for which we were looking.
This being our first night out, and my watch being the starboard watch, I was relieved by Lovell at four o’clock a.m., and under ordinary circumstances should not have been called until seven bells, or half-past seven. But I was not greatly surprised when, on being called, I found that it was still dark, the time being five bells. It was Lovell who called me.