“Very well,” said Mr Jellaby. “Watch her till you can make her out perfectly.”
In another minute or two, the signalman made the result of his second scrutiny known.
“She’s a French man-of-war and is making for Brest, I think, sir.”
“Ah!” exclaimed “Joe,” having a look at her, too, with his binocular. “Hoist the ensign!”
This was done; but, the stranger made no sign, until, gradually approaching each other all the while, she was about three miles off, when she displayed the gallant tricolour flag of France.
“Signalman,” sang out Mr Jellaby on seeing this, “Dip the colours!”
Our ensign was thereupon raised and lowered from the peak three times in succession, according to the usual nautical etiquette observed on such occasions, the other ship returning the compliment in like fashion; and we were just passing each other, she crossing our bows and sailing away right before the wind on our starboard beam, when, all of a sudden, she brought up, backing her maintopsail and firing a gun at the same time to attract our attention.
“By Jove, she wants to speak us; something must be up!” said the commander who had come on deck in the meanwhile. “Go below, Vernon, and tell the cap’en at once.”