And with that he began to shout orders to the crew, all of whom were gathered in the waist talking in subdued voices, with much shaking of heads and low curses. As if relieved at having something to do and at hearing their captain’s voice ring with a note of assurance, they sprang forward. The swivels were cast over the side, and one after another the broadside guns followed. The effect was immediately perceptible; the Revenge seemed to lift to the sea instead of dipping into it. And now the water casks, some of which were on deck just abaft the foremast, were broken in with swift blows of the axes, and the scuppers were running full with a mixture of salt water and fresh. The shot from the lockers followed, and both anchors, cut away, were let go and plashed overboard. And now, inch by inch, the Revenge drew ahead. The brig had fallen back until she was almost astern, and had ceased firing, but the seventy-four maintained her distance and continued, by an increased elevation of her bow-chasers, in an endeavor to reach her quarry.
It was approaching dusk; a fine red sunset, with bars of narrow blue clouds against the glare, glowed in the west; a still narrower and darker cloud was draped down from the sky above, and it looked for all the world like a picture on a grand scale of the Revenge’s cross-barred flag, the wriggling snake and all. Prompted by an impulse, Conyngham stepped to the color halyards, and with his own hands hoisted the Revenge’s colors to the masthead.
As if angered by the seeming insult, the big vessel swung off a point or two until, port after port, her broadside could be seen being brought to bear. It was the very thing for which Conyngham had been waiting. By doing so she lessened her speed and lost perceptible headway.
Every nerve was tense in the captain’s body as he stood there close to the taffrail waiting for the coming discharge, and trusting that the British commander had underestimated the distance or the rate of the Revenge’s sailing. The brig also was repeating the maneuver and endeavoring to bring her broadside also into play, for she and the seventy-four were now sailing almost side by side.
All at once it came! A cloud of white smoke broke from the tall sides of the larger vessel, and immediately the thunderous roar of her main-deck battery followed. How the Revenge escaped was more than any one on board of her could tell, for some of the heavy shot passed over her and crashed into the crests of the waves some distance in her path. But one shot reached her, and that, striking the top of her port bulwarks, sent a shower of white splinters whirring across the deck and then glanced harmlessly into the sea.
The brig, that had yawed wide, immediately followed suit, and just here the strangest thing occurred. Whether one of the guns that she had been firing earlier in the day had not been re-aimed or whether some accident in the firing took place has never been ascertained; perhaps some impressed seaman gunner who had been taken by the press-gang in a British port now found the moment to wreak his vengeance. At all events, a shot from one of the brig’s broadside guns went so wide of the mark that it caught the foretopmast of the big one full and square just above the hounds and brought it, with a tangle of sails and rigging, lurching and swinging down to deck, where the wreckage poised for a minute and then, swayed by the wind, tangled in the head-sails and brought the vessel almost to a stop.
The chase was over! The Revenge slipped on her way, and as Conyngham looked back he could see his two pursuers shortening sail.
“Somebody’ll swing for that, Mr. Minott,” observed the captain.
“And somebody would have swung if it hadn’t happened, sir,” returned the mate, giving up the wheel, which he had been handling himself, to the now grinning helmsman.
“What course, sir?” asked the latter.