"A large vessel," remarked Kingswell.
"Ay, and we's spoke mun afore now, sir," replied Bent. He was too intent on gazing ahead to see the question in the captain's face. But the mate saw it and answered it.
"She's run up a new spar, sir, an' mended her for'ard riggin'," said he, "an' like enough she thinks she'll take the cost of damages out o' us."
"Ah!" exclaimed Kingswell, with a note of relish. Then he remembered Beatrix, and a shadow darkened his eyes for a moment. "Pipe both watches," he said, quietly. "Arm all hands. Clear decks for action. Master Gunner, you must fight your barkers to-day for more than the glory of England."
He returned to his wife and told her of the menace. She heard the news with an inward sickening, but with no outward tremor. All her fear was for him.
"Promise me that you will go to our cabin when I give the word," he asked.
She nodded and smiled wistfully. "Your obedient, humble wife, my lord," she whispered, with a brave attempt at gaiety.
He caught her hands quickly to his shoulders and kissed her lips. He felt them tremble against his.
"I must help with the preparations, dear heart," he murmured, and hurried away. He consulted the mates and Tom Bent as to the advisability of beating back for St. John's. The mariners shook their heads. They held that the Heart of the West could make a better fight on her present course; and that the battle would be decided, one way or another, before the garrison could send them any help. As if to confirm their views, the wind freshened to such a degree, and held so fair astern, that to beat to windward would require all hands at the sails, and put gunnery out of the question.
"Like enough they be double our strength in men," said Tom Bent, "but we equals 'em in guns and seamanship, sir, an' ye may lay to that."