The courses were accordingly brailed up, and the top-gallant-sails furled, and under easy sail we stood up the inner harbour. Still nothing could we see of the fleet—not a light did any of the ships show.
On we glided through the calm water. “A brig ahead, sir!” shouted the third lieutenant from forward.
“Shall we weather her?” asked the captain.
The answer was in the negative. “Set the foresail and spanker! Ready, about-ship!”
Scarcely had the boatswain’s shrill pipe uttered the appropriate call, than the sails were let fall and sheeted home; and as soon as the frigate felt the effect they produced, the helm was put a-lee, and she went about close under the stern of the brig, which lay in her course. A loud hail came from the brig, but I for one could not make out what was said.
“That’s not an English brig,” observed one of the officers near me. She lay off what is called the Grand Tour Point.
“He is inquiring our name,” said another officer.
“His Britannic Majesty’s frigate Juno,” shouted the first lieutenant.
“Wah—wah—wah!” or sounds something like that, came from the brig. Some one also shouted, “Viva!”
“Whereabouts is the English fleet?” asked the captain. “Have they sailed? Is the admiral still here?”