I remained there for quite ten minutes, and by the end of that time felt perfectly satisfied as to her nationality. She was French, from her truck downwards, without a doubt.
This was an extremely awkward rencontre, and one which I scarcely expected. Indeed, our own frigates were at that time so thoroughly scouring the Mediterranean, particularly that portion of it lying between Gibraltar and Malta, that an enemy’s ship was almost the last object we might expect to see.
“I’m afraid we’re in a mess here,” said I to Smellie, as I joined him aft, by the companion. “That fellow is a Frenchman, and he has the weather-gage, to say nothing of his ability to sail round and round us in this weather, if we took to our heels. Now, the question is, how can we hoodwink him and slip through his fingers?”
“Perhaps we could personate some other craft of about our size and rig,” suggested little Smellie doubtfully.
“Um! possibly. Let’s get the French navy list, and just run through it. If there’s anything at all like ourselves we shall soon find it.”
My companion dived down below, and in less than a minute afterwards returned with the list and the French signal-book.
We turned it over together, and presently came upon a craft named the “Vidette,” which seemed, from her description, to be almost a sister-ship to the “Vigilant.” We accordingly determined to assume her name during the communications which would soon pass between us and the frigate. The French ensign was bent on, and we then turned up the “Vidette’s” number, and bent these flags also on the halliards, after which we could do nothing but wait.
Suddenly a thought struck me. There were several old red nightcaps still on board, which had been found when the vessel fell into our hands. These I at once routed out, and made each man on deck don one instead of his sou’-wester; we were then effectually disguised, as the rest of our clothing was concealed by the oilskins which we were wearing to protect ourselves from the drenching spray.
We had scarcely finished our preparations when Smellie, who was watching the frigate through his telescope, reported that our unwelcome neighbour had hoisted the tricolour, which was of course a polite request that we would show the colour of our bunting.
“Run up the ensign and number,” said I to the men who were stationed at the signal-halliards; and away went the bunting fluttering aloft, the flags all abroad, in the lubberly fashion which prevailed at that time in the French navy.