He received Captain Horton, his crew and passengers, however, with much affability, and when his ship had parted from the Raker, after cursing the Yankees awhile in good old Saxon, his countenance was restored in great measure to its wonted expression of good humor.
Julia and Lieutenant Morris had parted sorrowfully, yet full of hope for the future. A heavy box was also conveyed to the merchantman by orders of Lieutenant Morris, who told Mr. Williams it contained an equivalent for his loss by the pirate. It did indeed contain a sum in gold, which Mr. Williams would never have accepted had he had an opportunity to refuse. It produced on his mind precisely the effect which, without doubt, the young lieutenant intended that it should, awakening a feeling of obligation, which would prevent his opposing very strenuously the suit of the young American, which there was some reason to fear might be the case after he had been separated from him and returned to his own land.
In a short time the two vessels were out of sight of each other. The merchantman reached England in safety, and Mr. Williams determined to remain there, inasmuch as he was heartily sick of adventures on the ocean; and the sum of money left in his hands by Lieut. Morris enabled him to form a good business connection in London. With this arrangement Julia also was pleased, as she felt sure that as soon as the war closed her lover would be at her feet, and that the end of hostilities would be peace and happiness to them, as well as to the contending nations.
CHAPTER IX.
The Arrow and the Raker.
The immense injury done to the English service by American privateers, no less than the splendid victories obtained by our regular navy, had at length awakened in the mind of our adversaries a proper respect for American prowess. They had learned that the stars and stripes shone upon a banner that was seldom conquered, and never disgraced. At this period of the war their attention was more particularly directed to the privateers, who seemed to be covering the sea. Almost every merchantman that sailed from an English port became a prize to the daring and active foe. The commerce of England was severely crippled, and anxious to punish an enemy who had so seriously injured the service, several frigates were fitted out to cruise especially against the American privateers; these were chosen with particular reference to their speed, and one which was the admiration of every sailor in the service, called the Arrow, had spoken the merchantman, just as it was entering the channel, a few days after its capture by the Raker. No definite information as to the present position of the privateer could be obtained from the merchantman, but having learned her bearings at the time she was lost sight of, the Arrow bent her course in the same direction, confident that if he could once come in sight of her he would find little difficulty in overhauling her.
It was a black, murky, windy day, with frequent gusts of rain, and a thick fog circumscribed the horizon, narrowing the view to a few miles in each direction. Toward evening the fog rose like a gathered cloud to westward, leaving that part of the horizon cloudless, and shedding down a bright light upon the waters. Had the look-out on the Arrow been on the alert he might have seen, directly under this clear sky, the topsails of the American privateer, but the honest sailor had just spliced the main-brace, and having deposited a huge quid of tobacco in his cheek, was lying over the crosstrees, in a state as completely abandon as a fop upon a couch in his dressing-room.
All on the Raker, however, were on the broad look out, they knew they were nearing the shores of England, and liable at any time to come within sight of an enemy's cruiser as well as merchantman.
Lieut. Morris had for some time been anxiously scanning the horizon with his glass, and had caught sight of the frigate's topsails almost as soon as the fog lifted. As Captain Greene's wounds still in a great measure disabled him, the lieutenant still kept the command of the privateer. Unable to determine whether he had been seen by the frigate or not, he at once gave orders to bear off before the wind, hoping that even if such were the case, his little brig would prove superior in speed to the frigate.
As his brig wore off, with her white sails glittering in the flood of light, the worthy look-out on the Arrow had just raised his head to eject a quantity of the juice of the weed. His eyes caught sight of the sails as they rose and fell like the glancing wings of a bird; rubbing his eyes, he took another careful look, and then cried "sail in sight." The officer of the deck, as soon as he had got the bearings from the sailor, could plainly see her himself, and after swearing slightly at the look-out for not seeing her sooner, gave orders that all sail should be set in pursuit. As the fog rapidly lifted from the ocean, each vessel was able to determine the character of the other, and when the sun went down, leaving a cloudless sky, it was evident that the Arrow had gained on the privateer. Lieutenant Morris felt that his brig must be overhauled unless the wind should slacken. The breeze was now so powerful that, while it bore the frigate onward at its best speed, it prevented the privateer from making its usual way. Before a light breeze, Lieutenant Morris felt quite confident that he could sail away from any frigate in his majesty's service. He therefore calmly ordered every rag to be set that he thought the little brig would bear, and kept steadily on, trusting the wind would die away to a light breeze after the middle watch. It did indeed die away almost to a calm, and when the day broke, although the Raker had put a considerable distance between herself and the frigate, yet she lay in plain sight of her, the sails of both vessels flapping idly in the still air.