The wind at last was freshening, the sea was calm, and the “Halcyon” was making some four knots an hour; but the very smoothness of the ocean was against her, for her breadth of beam, rounded sides, and greater tonnage would have told in her favour hod the waves been rough; the schooner naturally labouring more in such a case.
As it was, everything favoured the latter, save that over the land hung a heavy cloud, which had been growing denser and denser. Its edges were ragged, and the captain often looked towards that quarter, conscious that in it lay his only hope.
The two vessels were now rapidly approaching each other, the black hull of the schooner becoming every moment more and more distinctly visible.
“Show our colours,” said the captain, and the Union Jack streamed out from the peak halyards.
“She makes no reply,” remarked the mate. “The bloody-minded villains have no flag to fight under.”
“Look here, Mr Lowe,” said the captain, “that craft is in no hurry; she is handing her fore-topsail again, and there goes her flag!”
“Fiery red, by George!—nothing less than blood will satisfy them.”
Half an hour would bring the two vessels within hailing distance, and Captain Weber made all his dispositions. The arm-chest which had been sent below had been again hoisted up on deck, and placed under the charge of Captain Hughes.
The two nine-pounders were heavily loaded, and the men had breakfasted.
“Mr Lowe, I intend, if yonder villain will allow me, to pass under his stern, giving him the contents of our two guns, and then luff right up into the wind, and away on the other tack.”