"What is that away to the northwest, just north of where the sun will set?" said Sinclair. "Is that an evening cloud or is it a trail of smoke from a steamer?"
Commander Gardenier's glass was on it in an instant:
"It is the smoke of a steamer, and she is coming directly this way. Looks as if she were from Foochow."
They watched her while she came over the rim of the horizon and drew rapidly nearer. Now the Frenchmen could see her, and there was a movement on board. But she evidently did not see them against the background of the coast.
"Up goes her flag. She sees the Frenchman and is letting them know who she is. She is British. What do you make of her, Boville?" handing him the glass. "You know most of the boats along the Coast."
"She's a long way off; but she looks like the Waverly, a tramp. If it is, she is almost sure to have contraband on board. By Jove! she's putting about!"
A long jet of smoke spirted out from the Vipère. The report went volleying off among the hills.
"A blank!" exclaimed Gardenier. "I believe that fool captain is going to run for it. He's stoking for all he's worth and heading straight across the channel. He must be crazy. He hasn't a chance in the world."
"No, I fancy he has no chance on that smooth sea," replied Boville. "But if there was a gale blowing or better still, a typhoon, Archie Scott would drive that old tub of his through at full speed where Monsieur of the Vipère would have to heave to."
But there was no prospect of a storm that calm evening and the warship was tearing through the water. Another jet of flame and smoke streamed out from her. A little plume of spray rose close to the bow of the fleeing steamer.