The Lily was soon ready for sea, and with a fair breeze ran out of Port Royal harbour. The war was still raging as furiously as ever, and the officers and crew well knew that before they could reach the shores of old England they might have another battle or two to fight. Perhaps, in their heart of hearts, they would have preferred, for once in a way, a peaceful voyage. A look-out, however, was kept, but the Atlantic was crossed, and the chops of the Channel reached, without meeting a foe. Here the Lily encountered a strong easterly gale, and in vain for many days endeavoured to beat up to her destination.
Having sighted Scilly, she was standing off the land, from which she was at a considerable distance under close-reefed topsails, when the wind suddenly dropped, and soon afterwards shifted to the southwards. The helm was put down, and the crew flew aloft to shake out the reefs.
They were thus engaged when a sail was seen to the south-east. The Lily, standing on the opposite tack, rapidly neared her. Every glass on board was directed towards the stranger. She was a ship apparently of much the same size as the Lily, but whether an English cruiser or an enemy it was difficult to determine.
The Lily, by keeping away, might have weathered the Lizard and avoided her. Such an idea did not enter the young commander’s head. On the contrary, he kept the ship close to the wind, so that by again going about he might prevent the stranger from passing him.
His glass had never been off her. Suddenly he exclaimed, “Hurrah! she’s French. I caught sight of her flag as she luffed up! Hands about ship! We’ll fight her, Captain Saltwell?” he added, turning to his former commander.
“No doubt about it,” said Captain Saltwell, “I should if I were in your place.”
The drum beat to quarters, the crew hurried to their stations, and every preparation was made for the expected
battle. The stranger, after standing on some way, hauled up, so as to keep the weather-gauge, and, at the same time; to draw the Lily farther away from the English coast.
Once more the latter tacked, and passing under the stranger’s stern, poured in a raking broadside.