“She has hoisted her colours,” observed Nettleship. “Though from the cut of her canvas she’s English, as far as I can make out, her flag is French.”
We had not yet hoisted our colours; indeed, as we were standing, the Frenchman could not have seen them even if we had.
“There’s no doubt about the flag,” observed Tom, who had taken the glass; “that is French, though she’s an English merchantman, if I ever saw one. The people on board her recognise this ship as one of their own cruisers, and take us for a friend.”
“I believe you’re right, Tom,” said Nettleship, “and we’ll not undeceive them.”
The stranger, having now got a breeze, hove-to, apparently wishing to speak us. We had to luff up a little to reach her.
“Hoist the French ensign,” said Nettleship to me; and I ran it up to the peak.
As we got nearer it became necessary to shorten sail, that we might lower a boat to send on board and take possession, should it be found that the brig had been captured by the French. Whether or not it was from the slow way in which we performed the operation, the suspicions of the Frenchmen were aroused, and putting up their helm, they filled their sails and ran off before the wind. We immediately let fall our courses, and hauling down the French flag and hoisting the English, stood away in chase.
“Give her a shot, Tom,” said Nettleship. “We mustn’t let her lead us out of our course.”
Tom and I hurried forward, and, training the gun ourselves, fired. The chase took no notice of the first shot, but we quickly again loaded, and managed to send a second plump on board her. To our satisfaction, she immediately rounded to, when we were soon up to her, we also heaving to to windward.
“You shall board her, Paddy,” said Nettleship. “Take care to let the Frenchmen understand that it was fortunate for them we didn’t sink the brig.”