The wind fined down as the Britishers came into the harbor, the Phœbe leading the way, and we had a good opportunity of examining them minutely.
I had taken a station by Master Hackett's side, and therefore came to know a good many things which otherwise would have failed of attracting my attention.
"They've taken on extra metal to meet us," the old sailor said with a chuckle, as if such fact pleased him wonderfully. "Thirty long eighteens, sixteen 32-pound carronades, one howitzer, an' six 3-pounders in her tops. That's givin' us the credit of bein' good fighters, even though they do accuse us of not darin' to tackle anything but whalers."
"Did you ever see the other ship, Master Hackett?" I asked.
"Ay, lad, time and time again. She's the Cherub, a 20-gun ship; but now she's carryin' twenty-eight in all—eighteen 32-pound carronades below, with eight 24-pound carronades and two long nines above. There can't be less than two hundred men on board, an' take it all in all, we've got a decently tough job laid out for us; but we'll tackle it in great style, lad. Why, the fact that the Britishers don't care to meet us with such a frigate as the Phœbe alone, is enough to stiffen the backbone of every man jack belongin' to this 'ere craft."
As the leading ship came nearer we could see that her crew was at quarters, and more than one old sea-dog looked aft questioningly, as if expecting our captain would give the word to prepare for action.
Friendly port or not, it seemed very much as if the Britisher was making ready to give us a broadside without the courtesy of hailing.
Nearer and nearer came the Phœbe, forging ahead slowly, and when she was less than a pistol shot distant her commander, Captain Hillyar, hailed, asking after Captain Porter's health as if the two were warm friends.