It was all up! Even with the stiffest and most favorable wind, the little cruiser could not have escaped; she would have been blown out of the water before she had gone a cable’s length.
There was nothing to do. In two minutes two boatloads of armed sailors and marines had put off from the big vessel, and soon they clambered unmolested over the Revenge’s bulwarks.
“Who commands this vessel?” asked a red-faced lieutenant.
“I have the honor,” replied Conyngham, giving his name.
The lieutenant whistled.
“Conyngham!” he exclaimed. “Are you the pirate who sailed out of Dunkirk?”
“I am an officer in the navy of the United Colonies,” was Conyngham’s reply, “and will answer further questions to your superior officer.”
“That you will do at once,” sneered the lieutenant, and he gave orders for Conyngham to enter one of the boats. Much elated, he rowed off with his prisoner to the seventy-four.
On his way Conyngham learned that his captor was Captain Jordan, whose commodore was Sir George Collier, and his heart sank, for he knew that the latter had a reputation for being a man of a cruel and vindictive temper. The Galatea was the very vessel from which the Revenge had escaped off Land’s End on that memorable afternoon when the cross-barred flag had appeared in the sky. He felt that he could expect small favors under the circumstances, but his chief concern was for his crew. Poor fellows! Some had not even recovered from their sea-sickness. Now more than ever he longed for his missing regular commission. But one thing rejoiced him—war was now on between France and England. Stormont had packed up his belongings for the last time.