“Cutter ahoy! who are you, and whither bound? and what is that piratical-looking craft down to leeward? If he is interfering with you, you had better bear up and follow in my wake; I’ll take care that—hilloa! if that isn’t Chester may I never—ahoy! Chester, old boy! don’t you know me?—Bob Summers, you know. Up helm, old fellow; the ‘Juno’ is in there, and—”
The rest was unintelligible, the brig being by this time too far away to allow of further conversation. Of course I bore up at once, for the brig being in English hands, I had no further occasion for anxiety with regard to the “Vigilant.” That craft, true to her name, had evidently been on the watch to see what would come of the meeting which had just taken place, and had already arrived at the conclusion that what had passed boded her no good, for the moment we bore up, she did the same, wearing short round upon her heel, and shaping a course, as nearly as we could judge, for Calvi. Bob, however, who was evidently burning to distinguish himself, seemed to regard this as a favourable opportunity for so doing, and promptly squared away, steering a course which would enable him to intercept the guarda-costa; we following steadily in his wake to witness the fun. Almost immediately afterwards we heard the shrill notes of the bo’sun’s whistle, followed by the hoarse bellowing sound in which that functionary is wont to transmit the commanding officer’s orders to the ship’s company. And occasionally we were gratified with the sight of Mr Bob Summers squinting curiously at us through his telescope, out of one of the stern-ports.
The moment that the brig was fairly within range of the “Vigilant,” Bob bowled a 9-pound shot across that craft’s fore-foot, as an invitation to her to heave-to. Monsieur Durand, however, seemed in no humour for accepting any such invitation just then, for he immediately returned a decided negative from his long brass 9-pounder, sending the shot very cleverly through both Bob’s topsails, and narrowly missing the mainmast-head. I expected to see Master Bob round-to and deliver his whole broadside in retaliation—it would have been quite like him to do so; instead of this, however, he maintained a grim silence, notwithstanding that Monsieur Durand continued his efforts to cripple the brig. At length, however, Bob got within short pistol-shot of his adversary, and then in came his studding-sails, all together, down went his helm, and crash! went his broadside of four 9-pounders into the devoted Frenchman, bringing his sails and his flag down by the run, together.
As the brig rounded-to, her main-topsail was thrown aback, bringing her to a standstill directly to windward of the “Vigilant,” and within easy hailing distance. Then Master Bob hove into view in the main-rigging once more, still with the precious speaking-trumpet in his hand, and the guarda-costa was sternly ordered to surrender—as I afterwards learned, we being at the moment rather too far astern to hear what passed,—which she forthwith did. The cutter was thereupon lowered and manned, and a prize crew went on board to take possession, little Summers himself also going with the party.
In the meantime we in the “Mouette” joined company, heaving-to close under the brig’s quarter, and making out for the first time the word “Requin” (Shark), which was painted on her stern in small red letters.
After the lapse of perhaps a quarter of an hour the brig’s cutter shoved off from the side of the “Vigilant,” and in another minute Bob and I were shaking hands as vigorously as though we had not seen each other for years. As soon as he had done with me, the young rascal turned to Francesca, whereupon I introduced him in due form in French. Francesca at once frankly gave him her hand, and made a pretty little speech as to the happiness which it afforded her to make the acquaintance of any friend of her “cher Ralph,” etcetera, etcetera.
Master Bob, whose knowledge of French was of the slenderest and most flimsy description, was in no wise disconcerted by being addressed in what was to him practically an unknown tongue. He bowed with all the elegance and grace he could muster, smiling meanwhile as suavely as he knew how, and finally responding somewhat in this style,—
“Je suis most happy a avez le plaisir a-makez votre acquaintance, Mile. Paoli. J’ai already l’honneur de being partially acquainted with votre oncle, General di Paoli, and a fine fellow he is. And—my eye! won’t he be surprised to see you? I only wish you could stay on board le ‘Juno,’ or, better still, take up your quarters aboard the brig, the skipper giving her of course to Chester and me with a roving commission. That would be jolly; but there—what’s the use of thinking of such a thing? Of course it is ever so much too good to be true. By the way, Chester,”—turning to me—“have you dined yet? Neither have I. Now suppose we all go aboard the brig then; I’ll leave a couple of hands to help your crew here, and we can then make sail in company. I say, we shall present quite an imposing appearance as we bring-up in the roadstead. I expect the skipper will send for us on the quarter-deck, and thank us before all hands for our gallantry and important services.”
Bob jumped into the boat alongside, as he concluded; I followed, and then Francesca stepped daintily down into the dancing craft, where the gallant Bob established her snugly in the stern-sheets, close alongside himself. He then seized the yoke-lines, gave the order to “shove off and give way” in his most authoritative manner, and in ten minutes more we were all three comfortably established in the cosy little cabin of the brig, with a very tolerable dinner on the table before us.