Suddenly there came a shout from the look-out at the masthead of “Five sail in sight.”
“Where away?” asked Lieutenant Saltwell, who was on deck superintending the operations going forward.
“Dead to leeward, sir,” was the answer.
The wind was at the time blowing from the north-west, and the frigate was standing close hauled, on the starboard tack, to the westward.
The mate of the watch instantly went aloft, with his spy-glass hung at his back, to take a look at the strangers, while a midshipman was sent to inform Captain Waring, who, before many minutes had elapsed, made his appearance, having hurriedly slipped into his clothes.
On receiving the report of the young officer, who had returned on deck, he immediately ordered the helm to be put up, and the ship to be kept away in the direction of the strangers.
In a short time it was seen that most of them were large ships; one of them very considerably larger than the Foxhound.
The business of washing down the decks had been quickly concluded, and the crew were sent to their breakfasts.
Many remarks of various sorts were made by the men. Some thought that the captain would never dream of engaging so superior a force; while others, who knew him well, declared that whatever the odds, he would fight.
As yet no order had been received to beat to quarters, and many were of opinion that the captain would only stand on near enough to ascertain the character of the strangers, and then, should they prove enemies, make all sail away from them.