“I think you are mistaken, Bell,” answered the young officer, who did not know as much about the run and rig of a seventy-four as Jack Bell. “No doubt there is a warship somewhere about convoying the fleet, but it is not that large ship off the quarter; but I will speak to the captain.”
Captain Thompson agreed with his second lieutenant that the ship was not a seventy-four. Jack said no more, and the twilight coming on, the ship, although she grew larger as they approached her, also grew less distinct in her character and outlines.
Captain Thompson then sailed boldly into the fleet of merchantmen and signaled, “Where is your convoy?”
The signal was evidently understood, as the nearest vessel promptly hung out several signal flags in reply. But in the dusky evening, it was impossible to read them. However, the American captain thought it prudent to act as if he had read them, and signaled back, “We have orders to find your convoy.”
The impudence of this tickled the Americans, and the officers with difficulty suppressed a cheer from the men. Dicky Stubbs laughed so loud that Jack Bell gave him a whack in good earnest, which caused Dicky to be perfectly quiet afterward.
Meanwhile the big ship was evidently edging off, which made the sanguine Americans certain that she was a merchant ship.
“Maybe she is—and maybe she’s waitin’ until we gits under her broadside,” mumbled Jack Bell to himself.
“She’s shy, my men,” cried Captain Thompson, who was young and brave and rash, pointing to the ship, which continued to edge off. “We will signal her and see what account she will give of herself,” continued the captain.
The little Raleigh had now lessened the distance nearly one half between herself and the big ship, which showed not a single porthole and seemed to be keeping off most determinedly. Accordingly the Raleigh signaled, “Where is your convoy?”
A faint moon showed its shimmering disk over the horizon, and those on the Raleigh could plainly read the stranger’s answer:—