"'Tis the Unicorn—as I am a living man!"
"Either thy father's spirit, or an English foe, is under sail on these waters. It is the Unicorn, Robert. But hah—what is this? Up goeth her pennon and ensign. French, gadzooks! Now what may this portend?"
"'Tis all a wile," said Barton, as Sir Stephen Bull, the further to deceive them, as he hoped, hoisted the white flag with the fleur-de-lis, a flag then as familiar to the Scottish people as their own; and as the oriflamme swelled out in the breeze, Sir Stephen fired a gun to leeward.
"Up with St. Andrew's cross," said the admiral; "if these are not three English ships, may I skulk in the lee scuppers of fortune to the end of my days. Up with our ancient, quartermaster; and Wad, fire a gun to windward."
It is recorded, that immediately on the hostile signal being given, the oriflamme went down, and up went the white flag with the red cross of England, while the bright heraldic pennons of the many gentlemen who served in the ships for glory and honour, or in sheer hatred of the Scots, were displayed in the bright sunshine. The adverse ships, now about half a mile apart, were nearing each other fast, and every heart on board beat high.
In our account of this battle, we will follow briefly and strictly the relation of Dalzel, Pitcairn, Buchanan, the Laird of Pitscottie, and others. The quaint chronicler Lindesay gives us the characteristic address of his contemporary, the Scottish admiral to his crew, while every man received a stoup of wine at the capstan-head.
"My lads, these are the men who would seek to convey us in fetters to the foot of an English king as they did the shipmates of stout old Andrew Barton; but, by the help of God and your bravery, they shall fail! Shipmates, set yourselves in order; every man to his station; the gunner to his lintstock, and the steersman to his helm! Charge home, cannoniers—crossbowmen, to the tops—pikes and two-handed swords to the forerooms. Down with the bulk-heads, up with the screens, reeve tackle, and ram home. Be stout men and true, for the love of your kindred, and the honour of old Scotland—hurrah!"
A loud cheer responded; the poops, tops, and forecastles were bristling with cuirassed and helmeted men; the yeomen of the sheets and braces stood by their stations, the gunners by their guns, and all were armed to the teeth, with swords and daggers, pikes, axes, ghisarmas, and hand-cannons.
The sun was clear and the sky brilliant; the waves rolled like crystal in long glassy swells; the bellying canvas was white as snow, and the gaudy pennons waved from mast-head and yard-arm, like long ribands of many coloured silk on the gentle wind. The sides of all the ships, but more especially their towering poops and ponderous quarter-galleries, were gay with carving and gilding, and grim with the flashing of sharp weapons and the brass-mouthed tiers of their pointed artillery; and a thousand bright or gaily tinted objects were thus reflected in the clear waves as they rolled past in slow heaving ridges that glistened in the sun.
In a few minutes the guns of Bull commenced firing, and their balls whistled through the rigging of the Yellow Frigate as she closed up, but without firing a shot, for, breathless and impatient, her crew were waiting for the sound of the admiral's whistle.