The Red Rover: A Tale

by James Fenimore Cooper

The colours already set were lowered, and, in their place, the emblem of the house of Braganza was loosened to the breeze. Still the stranger pursued his course in sullen inattention, eating closer and closer to the wind, as it is termed in nautical language, in order to lessen the distance between him and his chase as much as possible.

“An ally cannot move him,” said the Rover “Now let him see the taunting drapeau blanc.”

Wilder complied in silence. The flag of Portugal was hauled to the deck, and the white field of France was given to the air. The ensign had hardly fluttered in its elevated position, before a broad glossy blazonry, rose, like some enormous bird taking wing from the deck of the stranger, and opened its folds in graceful waves at his gaft. The same instant, a column of smoke issued from his bows, and had sailed backward through his rigging, ere the report of the gun of defiance found its way, against the fresh breeze of the trades, to the ears of the “Dolphin’s” crew.

“So much for national amity!” dryly observed the Rover. “He is mute to the Dutchman, and to the crown of Braganza; but the very bile is stirred within him at the sight of a table-cloth! Let him contemplate the colours he loves so little, Mr Wilder when we are tired of showing them, our lockers may furnish another.”

It would seem, however, that the sight of the flag; which the Rover now chose to bear, produced some such effect on his neighbour as the moleta of the nimble banderillo is known to excite in the enraged bull. Sundry smaller sails, which could do but little good, but which answered the purpose of appearing to wish to quicken his speed, were instantly set aboard the stranger; and not a brace, or a bow-line, was suffered to escape without an additional pull. In short, he wore the air of the courser who receives the useless blows of the jockey, when already at the top of his speed, and when any further excitement is as fruitless as his own additional exertions. Still there seemed but little need of such supererogatory efforts. By this time, the two vessels were fairly trying there powers of sailing, and with no visible advantage in favour of either. Although the “Dolphin” was renowned for her speed, the stranger manifested no inferiority that the keenest scrutiny might detect. The ship of the freebooter was already bending to the breeze, and the jets of spray before her were cast still higher and further in advance; but each impulse of the wind was equally felt by the stranger, and her movement over the heaving waters seemed to be as rapid and as graceful as that of her rival.

“Yon ship parts the water as a swallow cuts the air,” observed the chief of the freebooters to the youth, who still kept at his elbow, endeavouring to conceal an uneasiness which was increasing at each instant. “Has she a name for speed?”

“The curlew is scarcely faster. Are we not already nigh enough, for men who cruise with commissions no better than our own pleasure?”

The Rover glanced a look of impatient suspicion at the countenance of his companion; but its expression changed to a smile of haughty audacity, as he answered,—

“Let him equal the eagle in his highest and swiftest flight, he shall find us no laggards on the wing! Why this reluctance to be within a mile of a vessel of the Crown?”

“Because I know her force, and the hopeless character of a contest with an enemy so superior,” returned Wilder, firmly. “Captain Heidegger, you cannot fight yon ship with success; and, unless instant use be made of the distance which still exists between us, you cannot escape her. Indeed, I know not but it is already too late to attempt the latter.”