“She is a French craft,” said Captain McHale, “and I dare not try it.”
“Could ye not explain away the small matter of a broken spar?” suggested the crafty Longsword. “As you see, she flies no flag; ye might be mistaken about her being a French vessel, after all. She may be English, and as a French privateer it is your duty to your owners to examine her near at hand.”
The skipper ran his fingers through his yellow hair and grinned.
“Troth, then,” remarked he, “there is a good deal in what ye say, Mister O’Moore; and now that ye put it afore me I have a great mind to see what effect a ball would have on her. The Erin would catch her in the long run; but night is coming, and the English coast is too near at hand.”
He gave orders to his mate, who at once stripped one of the forward guns. The powder and shot had just been brought upon deck when Ethan suddenly cried to McHale:
“See, there! What vessel is that?”
Upon the lee, a large ship was bearing down upon the Montespan and the pursuing lugger. All eyes upon the Erin had been centred upon the chase and had given no attention to anything else; consequently, the appearance of the ship was something like magic to the lugger’s crew.
“She flies the British flag,” cried Longsword. “There’s ructions coming too, for she is stripping her decks for a fight.”
A sudden rending roar came from the British ship’s bow, a red tongue of flame darted from a port and a haze of smoke curled upward. In answer the Montespan ran up the English flag; but Captain McHale cried bravely:
“No sailing under false colors for the Erin. We sink or swim with our own colors at the peak.”