"We'll fool them this mizzly morn," he said. "Mum's the word now, comrades."
Dead silence was maintained on board, and for some hours the bark made steady headway through the mist. Dennis could not but admire the mutineer's fine recklessness. Without any sure knowledge of his bearings he held the vessel steadily to the wind, though she might at any moment strike a coral reef or even run aground on one of the innumerable islets that studded the gulf. He was bent only on escaping the dreaded grip of the Spaniards.
At length the fog began to clear, dissipated by the increasing heat of the mounting sun. The crew strained their eyes through the eddying mist, to assure themselves that the pursuer, as they hoped, had been deluded by the change of course. But they were appalled, and looked from one to another with a gasp of dismay, when they saw, less than half a league distant, a large Spanish galleon holding exactly the same course as themselves. Far down on the southern horizon another sail could be seen.
"What I'd have done myself," said Turnpenny to Dennis. "The Spanish skipper be no fool neither. When the mist came down he guessed the manoeuvres of Master Jan, and afore he was closed in by it he had time to signal the others to make off, one east, t'other sou'east, while he held on the same course, thereby making sure that we'd still be in sight of one or other of 'em when the mist lifted. Ah! lookeedesee, sir; there's a flag a-running up the galleon's forepeak. 'Tis a signal to the others to come and join the chase. Be jowned if Jan Biddle han't got to run the race all over again!"
CHAPTER XVII
The Demi-Culverin
Jan Biddle's face was the image of despairing rage when he saw how he had been outwitted. But he stuck gamely to the helm. The Mirandola was now carrying every stitch of canvas possible; her only chance, and that but a slight one, was to fly on before the wind. Dennis was tingling with excitement. Here was the bark, cutting through the water at a spanking rate; there the larger galleon, speeding after her under press of sail, and two other vessels equally large coming up from the south. He had forgotten that he was a prisoner—forgotten everything but the fact that the implacable enemy was at his heels.
Suddenly he saw the galleon luff up in the wind, and noticed a lift of the foresail.
"Now she's at us!" cried Amos at his elbow, scarcely less excited.