No sooner was this manœuvre completed, than the brigantine’s sails were also trimmed, her long yards were braced sharp; her vast mainsail was pulled in almost on a line with her rudder, and her head was put almost into the point of the wind itself, or, as seamen would designate it, into the “eye of the wind,” her stern was turned to the ship-of-war, and as she gradually left the latter behind, other four flags ran along the signal line. When read they said—
“Au revoir.”
And the black flag rose and fell, rose and fell again, at the mocking ceremony, that was intended to accompany this salutation.
This chase continued the rest of the day. The hours quickly fleeted by, and when gauzy twilight had shed its soothing and dreamy haze around, a few waves of the pirate’s flag, might still be dimly perceived, like the trembling of the phantom—leaves of dream; and then darkness spread its shrouding mantle over the ocean.
The sun had risen, the man-of-war was lying-to under one or two sails, the others had been taken in during the night; at some distance in the direction, in which the brigantine had disappeared, a vessel, apparently a wreck, was to be seen. She was a barque: portions of her masts were broken away; her rigging was slack, loose, and dry; her racketty yards waved from one direction to the other, as she clumsily rolled into the trough of the sea, or rose heavily on its crest. Their braces dangled loosely and neglectedly about, and either dragged overboard, or swung with a spring from one part of the deck to the other. In keeping with her disordered gear, her hull itself exhibited the greatest neglect and uncleanliness: the barnacles grew unmolested, to a considerable height, and the marks of the lee-water from the cuppers, stained her sides. The few sails which still remained on the unsteady yards were tattered and worn, and tied up in the oddest manner imaginable. The vessel had her English ensign tied upside down, in token of distress, on the little that remained of the mainmast’s rigging: an indication, which was not by any means required, in as much as the miserable manner in which she rolled about, was quite sufficient in itself, to tell that she was in a wretched condition.
As soon as the distressed vessel was perceived, signals were made to her to launch her boats, and to send alongside; but they seemed to be either not understood, or the people of the barque had no means of answering them.
But one solitary individual was to be seen standing on its deck, at the gangway, and wistfully looking towards the man-of-war.
The commander was not willing to launch any of his boats, he had, during the three or four days that had lately expired been so much cheated by pirates, that he was now made more than ordinarily cautious, and he repeated his signals, and waited many hours, either to have them answered, or to force the people of the distressed ship to launch their boat and come alongside his vessel: but neither the one thing or the other was done.
“These fellows can’t be cheats,” he said, “else they would have sailed away, though, it strikes me, it would be difficult for them to spread a sail on those yards of theirs,” said the commander, as his good feelings began to press upon him.
“They may be starved to death, or ill, have a boat launched, sir,” said he to the officer, after this short soliloquy, “and let them pull to those poor fellows. Tell the officer he must not let any of the men go on board, he may do so himself, if he thinks it necessary.”